His Favorite Thing
by hey-elle
Summary: The revolution had always been his favorite thing but then he meets a certain opinionated young lady and the revolution doesn't really make the top of his list of favorite things anymore.
1. Chapter 1

His favorite thing to do was talk about the revolution. Whether it was debating with Combferre, encouraging Prouvaire or trying to inspire Grantaire, there was nothing more exhilarating to him than the revolution. He spent hours buried in his books studying the politics of great men who believed in freedom as he did. Sometimes he would be in the middle of eating breakfast and a thought would occur to him – inspiration for a speech or a solution to some problem – and he would go rushing off madly around his flat finding paper and writing it down hurriedly before he forgot. The revolution consumed his thoughts. "If France were a woman," Courfeyrac teased one day, "Enjolras would marry her in a heartbeat." Enjolras smiled. That wasn't quite true. If the France of his dreams – the new France, the free France – was a woman then, perhaps, yes he would entertain thoughts of marriage. But that was ridiculous. His thoughts turned away from the lighthearted banter and focused again on the notes before him.

One night when their merrymaking was louder (drunker) than usual and he was having a harder and harder time focusing them on the cause he stood up on a chair. "Gentlemen," he called their attention to him. "My friends, think a moment. There is no harm in your merriment. You are enjoying yourselves, are you not?" They cheered loudly, albeit slightly confusedly. They weren't sure where he was going with this. "Your bellies are full with good food; your throats are wet with good drink." Another cheer arose from them. "Think now on the thousands of your brothers and sisters, of the women and children less capable than you of withstanding the pangs of hunger. They shiver in the cold while we make merry in the warmth of this building. Think what they wouldn't give for just a fraction of the food you've consumed in the past hour. Think, my friends, of your fellow man." He was in fine form that night. This – this was one of his favorite things to do. To see the fire that burned in his heart reflected in the faces of his companions. By the end of his speech they were sobered just a little but even more determined to fight for France's freedom. Enjolras allowed himself a moment of pride before throwing himself into a debate with Joly and Bahorel. Yes, Enjolras loved talking about the revolution. It was his favorite thing.

He didn't know when she first showed up. She never returned his polite greeting except with a nod. He didn't question her presence but simply took it in stride. The girl used to wait outside the café sometimes for hours until Les Amis had broken up their meeting and gone home. Then she would attach herself like a limpet to Marius and the two would go wander off to do who knew what. Marius seemed to be completely unaware how long the girl would stand outside always remarking, "I hope you haven't waited too long," to which the girl would shake her head and laugh.

There had been a night, a freezing one, when Enjolras was late. The wind blew right through every layer of clothing he had on, straight into his bones. The streets were slick with ice. _The winter will claim many lives tonight,_ he thought to himself as he hurried past the desperate faces that peered out at him from the alleys. As he approached the café he could hear the sounds of his friends' laughter drifting down. He thought of the warmth of the fire and food and quickened his pace nearly tripping over the girl huddled by the door. "Mademoiselle," he said, in alarm. She lifted her pale face to him. "My apologies. I did not see you there." Then, noticing her almost blue lips and her violent shivering, he quickly pulled her to her feet. "Why are you out here? You will freeze to death. Come inside. We will make you warm by the fire." She pulled away.

"No, m'seuir, I am fine. I'm only waiting for M'seuir Marius," she said.

"Pontmercy is inside. I do not think he would want you to catch your death of a cold out here. Come, come. I won't have 'no' for an answer." He herded her inside, ignoring her protests.

"'Ponine," Marius had cried, when he saw the pair enter. "What are you doing? Mon Dieu! You look half frozen." He hurried to her side and led her to the fire, chattering and fussing over her like a mother hen. His anxious attentions seemed to do more good for her than any amount of warmth and food. _You'd have think she'd died and gone to Heaven_, Enjolras thought before being dragged over to a table by Courfeyrac who had a question about fair wages.

It became a ritual then for them. Enjolras would invite her inside and she would put up her usual protests which he would proceed to ignore before ushering her in. Sometimes if she wasn't there when he arrived, he would check out the window constantly until he saw her standing by the door. She never came in by herself although he frequently told her she could. Once inside she would take up her place next to Marius or wait in a corner until he arrived. The other boys became friendly with her, spoke to her. She was a fascinating talker, always ready with a witty comeback or a teasing comment. She kept the boys entertained with her stories of the streets, stories that they laughed at with her but that sobered their boyish faces when she wasn't looking.

Sometimes she came in bruised, beaten, even a little bloody. The boys discreetly said nothing about it except Joly. He put up the pretense that he wanted to further his medical knowledge. She was helping him practice some new technique he had just learned. Just so long as he wasn't doing it out of pity she allowed him. Sometimes while he dabbed at her bleeding lip or examined a nasty bruise, she would tell him what had happened. He never asked her though.

One night, she arrived looking especially beat up. There was a slight cut on her eyebrow, bleeding profusely. Enjolras asked her in as usual and this time she didn't put up her customary protests, just followed him in, quietly. Enjolras kept a steadying hand on her elbow as they went upstairs while she wiped away the blood, smearing it across her forehead. He led her straight to Joly who jumped up in alarm the moment he saw her predicament. "Don't get excited, Joly," she said lightly, "Hate to disappoint but it doesn't need stitches."

"Oh, well," he said, faking disappointment, "I guess we'll just have to do with a boring old bandage." She smiled wanly at him and collapsed into a chair. "Can you get her some water, Enjolras?" Joly asked before leaning in to look at the cut.

As Enjolras came back she was telling the medical student what had happened. "He wasn't as drunk as I supposed him. Usually I try to target the really drunk ones because they're easier and less coordinated. Anyways, he caught me as I was trying to get away and took his wallet back. Stupid idiot was wearing a huge ring though. Biggest ring I've ever seen. When he hit me it cut open my forehead. Funny thing was though, I think the sight of blood made him sick because he suddenly let me go and ran over to a corner and started puking."

"You shouldn't do that," Enjolras said, setting the water down beside her.

"Do what?" she questioned. "Get punched?"

"No, put yourself in a situation that gets you punched," he answered.

She laughed mirthlessly. "Every time I walk out onto the streets it's a situation for getting punched," she told him.

"Stealing only puts you more at risk," he informed her. "As today's mishap can prove."

"A girl's gotta eat and food costs money," she said. "Not to mention I've got a rather bad-tempered daddy who doesn't like me coming home empty-handed."

"Get a job," he persisted.

"A job?" she laughed again. "A job, m'sieur? And who would hire me? No, the only job I could get would be as a prostitute. And I'd take stealing over that any day. Go back to writing your silly speeches, Enjolras."

"They're not silly," he said, offended.

"Yes, they are," she said, wincing as Joly applied pressure to the cut.

"You have a problem with my speeches?" he asked.

"Yes, I do," she said, simply. For some reason, that annoyed him more than it should have. Talking about the revolution was his favorite thing, giving speeches was the epitome of this. He didn't like this girl insulting that.

"What sort of problem?" he asked warily.

"There's lots of problems I have with them. Number one being that they are, when it all comes down to it, just a bunch of words," she said, matter-of-factly.

"They're words that express an idea. It's an idea of a free France," he explained. "A France where you don't get to steal."

"Where I don't _get _to steal? I don't _GET _to steal?" she said, her voice raising just a bit. "As if I wanted to steal? Oh, now, now, high 'n' mighty, if you would get off your pedestal once in a while and look around, you'll see that I have no choice."

"I meant no offense," he tried to cut in.

"You might not have meant offense but I take offense. You seem to think that I've got a choice in the matter. Like any of us have a choice in the matter. Alright, well I could stop stealing. But I guarantee you that within a week, you'll find me dead. Whether from hunger or a beating from my father, I'll be dead. So _excuse_ me if I steal a purse off some drunkard. I'm doing him a favor in fact. Without that money, he can't get another bottle of drink. Maybe that one less drink can let him hold on to his sanity long enough to not beat his wife. Maybe not beating his wife means she can go out to her job maybe as a washwoman and work just a little longer and a little better because her body's not sore. Maybe that little bit of extra work brings in a little more money to feed her three babies. And maybe that little extra food keeps them alive just a little bit longer."

"But stealing is still wrong. Besides, that theory is, while plausible, highly unlikely. How often do you think that happens?"

"Often enough. You don't know. How could you know? Have you ever gone and actually looked at what's going on in the streets? You have all these brilliant _theories_ about the streets but if knock off the speeches and you step out there, you'll see just how easily they're all proved," she spat. She was quite angry now and stormed away but Enjolras saw the truth in her words. Admittedly, it hurt a bit but he always believed in improvement and this was certainly an area that he could improve on.

"She's sort of right, you know," he said to Joly who was sitting there in a sort of shock.

"Actually, she's very right," Joly said, patting him on the shoulder and taking his leave.

That night as he laid in bed, thinking about the revolution, the memory of Eponine kept invading his thoughts. He had never seen her that angry before. Her eyes shone and her face was alight as she spewed her words at him angrily. He thought she had looked quite…maybe not beautiful but stunning. Even with the bandage that Joly had carefully wrapped around her head. He sighed. Although it stung him to admit it Eponine was, as Joly said, very right. He mulled over what she said. He tried to think what he could do to change. He was completely open to helpful criticism and he sought always to improve. Anything for the cause. He would ask her perhaps what he might do. He remembered her saying she had a number of problems with his speeches. He would ask her about those too. And apologize. He supposed an apology was in order.

The next night as he came to the café, Eponine was standing outside the door. He had planned on talking to her about the revolution as they went upstairs but he saw she was already deeply engaged in a conversation with Marius. Enjolras sighed knowing there would be no point trying to get her away from any form of attention from Pontmercy. The girl seemed to live for any barest scrap of notice from the young man. As he came to the door, the pair turned, Marius' face breaking into a smile and hers expressing a reserved caution. He greeted them and held the door open for them. Marius went inside but Eponine turned to leave. "Aren't you coming, mademoiselle?" Enjolras asked.

"I've got an errand to run," she told him. Enjolras nodded and told her to be safe as she ran off into the darkness. He couldn't suppress a twinge of disappointment that he wouldn't be able to talk with her about the revolution tonight. He sighed again and turned to go inside.

The next night provided no opportunity for him to speak with her and the night after that she was not there. It wasn't until two nights later that he finally had a chance. "Mademoiselle," he said, approaching the table she was sitting at. She looked up in surprise. "May I sit?" She nodded.

"Come to preach to me about stealing, Enjolras?" she asked in a teasing voice edged with contempt.

"No. I've come to apologize about that. I didn't mean to preach and you're right. It was not my place to judge you," he said. "And I thought I might ask your advice on something."

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise and a grin crept over her face. "Wonders never cease. The high and mighty leader is asking _me _for advice. Fancy that." When Enjolras didn't reply except to blush just a little, she let off the teasing. "What is it you wanted my advice on?"

"Well, you said that my speeches were 'silly' which they aren't, by the way," he began.

"Yes they are," she butted in. "Anyways, go on."

"They aren't silly," he protested. He felt like their previous conversation was repeating itself.

"They are and until you admit that they are. I'm not going to give you any sort of advice," she said, crossing her arms.

"Fine, if you don't want to help me," he said, rising.

"Oh, m'seuir, you think you're so wonderful and yet your pride can't let you admit how silly you are," she replied, bitingly. "It's pride like that that has the people of Paris oppressed."

Enjolras sat back down hard, glaring at her. "_I _am trying to help the oppressed."

"Oh, and a good job you're doing of it too," she mocked.

"Well what would you suggest?" he asked, hoping to get her back on track.

"Why do you care what I would suggest? It's not like you'll listen, anyways," she said.

"What makes you think that?" he asked.

"Well, I already told you your speeches are silly and did you listen? No," she said, smugly.

"Alright," he finally gritted out, "My speeches are silly. Now tell me why."

"Not if you ask like that," she teased.

"Why are my speeches silly?" he asked, his voice dripping with fake politeness.

"Because you don't act upon them," she replied with an equally sickly sweet voice.

"What do you mean?" He cocked his head to the side in bewilderment and she laughed.

"You're such a child some times, Enjolras," she said. With that, she stood up and left him still confused. As the days passed, Enjolras found that Eponine would tell him nothing important. She would tease him and laugh at him but never give any helpful advice. He did his best, was polite as possible, never preached to her and would talk to her for much longer than he cared to about insignificant subjects in hopes she would talk with him about the revolution but to no avail. On one such occasion, he had been listening to her for almost an hour. The girl talked so much and his head was beginning to hurt. She rarely let him get in a word and his patience was wearing thin. She was talking about….he wasn't even sure anymore. He had ceased to pay attention. "Eponine!" he finally cut in. She stopped talking and looked over at him in surprise. "Please, no more. Do you ever stop talking?"

An annoyed look crossed her face. "Excuse me?"

Realizing what he had said, he tried to retract himself. "Forgive me. I didn't mean to be rude. I have a headac-" She swiftly cut him off.

"You know, that's the problem with you people. You never _mean _to be rude. You never _mean_ to insult. But you do. A fat rich man comes hurrying down the street, knocking aside a bunch of children and he doesn't _mean _to hurt them. Some disgusting drunk tries to make advances on a girl and he doesn't _mean_ to get drunk, he doesn't _mean_ to take her innocence but he does. I'm sure the king doesn't _mean _to oppress his people. If you would take a moment and think about what you're doing. Actually put some thought into your actions, and only do things you meant, then we wouldn't have this problem, would we? That is exactly what I was talking about the other night. You say all these beautiful sounding things. And I admit they sound beautiful. But you aren't going to change the world with empty words, m'sieur. It's gotta be words that you mean. And if you really mean them then you've got to act on them." She strutted away after that leaving Enjolras a little taken aback but much enlightened. What she said made sense. It was time to act. Not just to preach. Or if he was to preach, let it not be only to those people who agreed with him. Let it be to win the people over. She was right again. But that was not the only thing he realized. It dawned on him that she only said what he deemed to be important things when she got angry with him. Otherwise it was all teasing and trivial talk.

Enjolras soon developed a pattern. As he invited her inside, he would make small talk, sometimes apologize for previous offenses. She would forgive him and start her chatter. Then somewhere in his conversation he would slip-up. Use a poor choice of words purposely, make some sort of slighting remark and set her on edge. By this time they would be upstairs with the rest of the boys and she would flounce away to go attach herself to Marius. Later on, he would come around to her, try to strike up a conversation and she, still annoyed with him, would give him a telling-off. Sometimes they would get into heated arguments. Other times he would only listen in secret awe marveling at the power of her angry speeches. Later that night, by himself, he would revise a speech or write down a new idea that she had put into his head. He pretended that her words were the only thing that kept him coming back. He pretended that he didn't think she looked beautiful when she was angry. Her blazing eyes glaring at him, her hands flying around in dramatic gestures, her face twisting into a scowl or scrunching up into a laugh. He pretended that his favorite thing to do was not to get Eponine angry. But it was.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Hi-hi! Thanks so much for the positive feedback. Reviews and follows make me very happyful. Here's a short chapter. Hopefully a longer one will be up within the next few days. Happy Saturday!**

As the months slipped by, Enjolras continued his new favorite pursuit. He would waste hours thinking up new ways to get her riled up. It was an entertaining game and one that Eponine was not completely blind to. She was smart. She had a fairly decent understanding of what he was up to. But she made no attempt to stop it. She didn't mind. She rather liked letting him get her angry. It was funny to see his pretty face express shock or annoyance, disbelief and understanding all within a few minutes. She liked trying to draw him into arguments, sometimes purposely saying something she knew he disagreed with just to see him become indignant. Sometimes once they'd argue out all their points and were both annoyed and flustered with the other he would glance over at her where she was usually sitting across from him, arms folded, scowling. A look vaguely resembling regret would flit through his eyes and an apology would be on his lips within seconds. She would always pretend to ignore him but she could never refuse his apologies for long. And anyways, she knew he meant it. That was the thing with Enjolras he was always sincere.

One night, Enjolras was having more difficulty than usual finding a point of contention. She was in a languid mood, her hand supporting her head on the table, not rising to his bait, throwing him a few half-hearted teases. He finally fell back on to one of her especial sore spots - her stealing - and she was just beginning to become annoyed when Marius bounded up the stairs. Her face lit up like the sun and she sat up, immediately forgetting her quarrel with Enjolras. The young revolutionary hid his irritation both with Marius and with Eponine and plastered a smile onto his face as the other boy came towards them. "Enjolras, 'Ponine," he greeted them, laying a hand on each of their shoulders. Eponine's eyes flitted between his hand resting lightly on her shoulder and his face. She positively radiated delight. Enjolras almost rolled his eyes in annoyance. _Why can't she see it's all for nothing? Pontmercy isn't going to fall in love with her and that's a fact, _he thought to himself. It irked him to see Eponine, usually so strong and independent, hanging on to every word that fell from Marius' mouth, soaking in every look he sent her way, enraptured any time they made physical contact. If she would just devote that same passion and attention to something worth her efforts, she could probably conquer the world. As these thoughts drifted through his mind, Marius had been relaying some piece of gossip or whatever. Eponine was smiling brightly at him, laughing at his little jokes. Enjolras kept a pleasant look on his face and nodded occasionally presenting an attentive front. Marius was a good kid, but honestly he talked about the stupidest things when he wasn't talking about the revolution. Suddenly he remembered one of Eponine's accusations. _You always talk but you never like to listen. _ Maybe that was true. He tuned in once more to what Marius was saying. "And they say that he has been advocating the people's rights. He will be a great rallying point for the people. An official that is actually for the people," Marius was saying.

"What's that?" Enjolras suddenly perked up. "I got distracted a moment." Across the table, Eponine smirked knowing full well he had intentionally tuned Marius out.

"I was only saying that General Larmarque has been a great help to our cause. He is a great man," Marius said. "But I'm sure you already know that."

"Yes, yes, General Lamarque is a great sympathizer with the cause. Something you said though, struck my attention. You said he was a great rallying point."

"Yes?" Marius said, confused. "I did say that."

"Well, that's a good point. I'd never really thought of that. If the people see that a high official actually cares about them it will inspire them. They aren't completely alone."

"Yes, that's what I just said," Marius said, his smile brightening.

"Yes, good, that's what I thought I just um…was reinforcing it," Enjolras said, his face reddening slightly. Marius nodded enthusiastically and went to join Prouvaire and Courfeyrac.

"What did I tell you? You listen more and you might hear something worth hearing," Eponine said, smirking. "M'siueir Marius says a lot of interesting and important things but half the time you just block him out."

His pride stung just a little Enjolras retorted, "Well, half the time all that's coming out is some sort of romantic nonsense."

"And the other half is good solid sense," she replied back, smoothly.

"Well, you're no judge of that. You think _anything_ that comes out of his mouth is divine inspiration," he accused. She frowned and blushed a little, but said nothing. "I don't see why you hang on to him so much, Eponine. He's done nothing to encourage your affection." Enjolras knew that he was walking on shaky ground here but he couldn't help but press the issue. After all, his favorite thing to do was make Eponine angry.

Instead of angry, however, she just looked a little sad. "I think you of all people should understand."

"Me? Why I've never been in love a day of my life!" he exclaimed, genuinely taken aback.

"You love France. You do everything for France; devote your life to France," she said, "And what does France give you back. Nothing."

"That's because France is in ruins at the moment. My reward will come when France has been born anew. A changed France will be my reward for my efforts."

"A change, yes. You keep hoping and praying and working for a change even when all signs say there isn't one coming. It's the same for me, Enjolras. Just like you have your ideal France, I have my ideal love," she said, "Would you stop working for the revolution just because France doesn't love you?" He shook his head. "It's the same for me." Enjolras was quiet. He had nothing to say to it. It made sense. She always made sense. He looked at Eponine, her arms were wrapped around herself like she was cold, biting her lip, her eyes shining with unshed tears. Enjolras squirmed in his chair. He had discovered something that was definitely not a favorite thing. He did not like seeing Eponine sad. He did not like it one bit. He would do something about it. His chair scraped as he stood and he crossed the room quickly.

Eponine paid no attention to this. She was used to being left alone. It made no matter but it did hurt a little that he hadn't even said anything. No. He just left her alone. The tears threatened to overflow but suddenly he was there again. "Eponine, tell him about your idea for the rally," Enjolras said, settling down in his recently vacated chair. Marius was back again. "It was quite brilliant. Tell him, Eponine."

She looked up in surprise quickly, blinking away the tears. If Marius noticed the tears he said nothing. "What was it, 'Ponine? Enjolras sounded quite excited about it. He said it had to do with Lamarque."

Eponine looked at him in surprise not quite understanding what was going on. "About Lamarque?" she asked, looking to Enjolras confusedly.

"Remember? You were just saying how we should have the rallies outside his home. It would remind the people that he is on our side," Enjolras prompted, smiling just a little. "Tell Marius." She had said nothing of the sort but she could improvise. She looked towards Marius prepared to make up some on the spot ideas and seeing his eyes so intent on her own, his attention fully given to her she smiled. She glanced at Enjolras. Just a glance but it expressed all her thankfulness and appreciation. He hadn't left her alone after all.

Enjolras caught the glance and suppressed a grin. Funny that such a little thing could make her so happy. Her face was lit up and her eyes shining. Not like when she was angry, though. It was different from when she was happy. He decided she looked beautiful like that too. He wished she would look like that more often. He liked it like that. He liked Eponine happy. Something inside him acknowledged that making her angry had got bumped a spot down on his favorite things list.


	3. Chapter 3

Enjolras would still argue with Eponine – they both liked to do it too much to stop – but he had started trying to make her smile now too. She had smiled before but he had never realized how pretty it made her look. Sometimes he would call Marius over to their table, invite him into some argument or tell him that Eponine had said something brilliant. Marius, dear devoted boy, would immediately want to know what it was that had captured the leader's interest and give his attention to Eponine. This was the most certain way of getting a smile and a look of gratitude. Other times, he could make her smile with a little joke or a subtle compliment. With the jokes, she would laugh and he liked the sound of it because it was so different from the rowdy male laughter of his friends. With the compliments though, her eyes would widen ever so slightly and she would look disbelieving but a smile would pull at her lips until she gave into it and grinned. He liked those times best.

One day as he was walking back from classes a gaggle of children ran by, yelling and laughing. He could clearly see the bones that poked out beneath skin barely covered by ragged and torn clothes. It brought his mind back to a conversation he had had with Eponine several nights ago. It had been a relatively peaceful moment between them when they were actually in agreement. "It's the children that suffer worst," Eponine had said.

"Agreed. I think in the end the children will be the greatest rallying point," Enjolras had replied. "Parents don't want their children to suffer and grow up in an oppressed world."

"Most parents," Eponine had muttered. "But you're right, sometimes I'll see a mother giving up her last bit of bread for her little one and my faith in humanity is restored."

"I feel so sorry for the little ones. They've known nothing but the drudgery of life," he had said.

"But that doesn't really get them down. They're happy sometimes just running around. And you'd be surprised. Some of them are quite hearty little things who can take care of themselves just fine," she had said, a faraway look coming into her eyes. She had sighed.

"What's wrong?" he had asked, sensing there was more behind her words then a general observation of the young of the streets.

"My brother. Gavroche. He ran away from home several months ago and I haven't seen him since. I'm not worried about him. He can take care of himself. I just miss him a bit," she had told him.

"How old is he?" Enjolras had asked. He hadn't known she had a brother. She rarely ever talked about her family. And usually when she did it was to rant about her father's treatment of her.

"Nine," she had replied. "Only nine but he's got more guts than me. Leaving home like he did."

Standing on the street corner, watching the children playing Enjolras was suddenly struck with an idea. Striding over to them determinedly the little ones stopped their playing, eyeing the well-dressed stranger. Experience told them that almost nothing good ever came of talking to rich people. "Hello," he said, unsure of how to handle this. They stared back at him mutely. "Um, do any of you know of a little boy named Gavroche?" he asked, deciding it was best just to get to the point. A few of the younger ones began nodding their heads and started to point but the older ones jabbed them and they stopped.

"Why do you want Gavroche?" one of the boys asked.

"I know someone who's been looking for him," he explained.

"You work for the police?" a tiny voice at the back blurted out. The others turned on the culprit shushing him.

"No, no. Nothing of the sort!" Enjolras assured them, realizing the cause of their fear. Probably more than half of them kept alive picking pockets and lived in dread of being caught. "I know his sister. She hasn't seen him in a very long time and she misses him."

"Does she?" said the original boy skeptically. "How do you know her? Got her locked up in jail somewhere?"

"No. She comes to meetings with my friends and me. We talk about politics and things," he said, wondering how to make them trust him. They stared back at him with mixtures of confusion, uncertainty and distrust.

"Is that true?" the boy asked. "I don't believe it. People like us don't hang out with people like you." He stuck out his chin defiantly. The other children turned to gape at his boldness.

"Well, you don't have to believe me. But if you know Gavroche," he said looking pointedly at the little blonde who'd acted as spokesman. Enjolras was fairly certain _this_ was Gavroche. "Tell him that if he goes to the Café Musain, Eponine will be there tonight and she'd very much like to see him."

"The Café Musain?" the boy asked. "Tonight?"

"Yes. She'll be there if she's not too busy. Good day, m'seuirs," he said, tipping his head towards them. He smiled to see the way their faces lit up when he paid them that little respect.

Later that night, as he was climbing the stairs to the café, Grantaire came stumbling down the stairs, chuckling. "Ah, Enjolras. There's quite a party upstairs. There's a little fellow up there. I think if you and Eponine had a kid it'd be him." Enjolras' face immediately reddened at that thought. Grantaire continued, "He makes speeches better than you but he's got a mouth on him like the girl." Grantaire laughed and carried on tripping down the stairs.

Enjolras hurried up the stairs and saw the little blonde boy from earlier. "I believe, your little friend is here," Combferre said. "He came up earlier and asked loudly for Eponine or the blonde gent with the red jacket. I can only assume that's you."

"Yes, that's me. I met him earlier today," Enjolras replied. Making his way through the crowd to where the boy was comfortably situated on Courfeyrac's shoulders, Enjolras looked up at the boy. "Hello, Gavroche."

"Hey, m'seuir. Gavroche got the message," he said, winking. "You've got a lot of nice friends, but where's Ponine?" he asked, leaning over Courfeyrac's dark curly head to be even with Enjolras.

"She'll be here later I'm sure," he assured him.

"Where'd you find this little monkey? He's the most fun I've had in forever," Courfeyrac said to Enjolras. "He makes speeches better than you. Tell him 'Roche!"

"Freedom for all! Let liberty take back the land that's hers! Free the poor! Vive le France!" he yelled shrilly, greeted by the raucous cheers of the students. He waved his hands dramatically, reminding Enjolras of Eponine. "Down with the king!"

Enjolras pushed his way back out through the crowd and checked out the window for Eponine. He saw her coming down the street and he hurried down the stairs to meet her. "Hello, mademoiselle," he called to her.

"Hello," she said wearily. "Sounds like the boys are having a good time," she remarked as another burst of laughter was heard above. She looked up then and she seemed more exhausted than usual and he could see fading bruises on her arms.

"Yes, we've got a new recruit. Come up and meet him," he said, cheerfully.

"Alright," she said, amused by his enthusiasm. When she climbed the stairs and entered the noisy room her face paled when she caught sight of her brother, laughing and cheering. "Gavroche!" she squealed.

"Ponine!" the boy's head whipped around to find his sister. "Ponine!" he squirmed and wiggled down from Courfeyrac's shoulders and wove through the crowd to his sister.

"Gavroche!" she cried again, as he hurtled into her arms. "I can see you've been doing just fine." She held him at arm's length and surveyed him. He grinned up at her, raising his dirty face for her inspection.

"Yeah, well, I always told you I would be fine. I should've left a long time ago, Ponine. Freedom's great," he said. "Don't have to worry about Papa, just gotta worry about me." She ruffled his hair affectionately. "Say, you've got a nice bunch of mates. They said I can join the revolution. We're gonna fight!"

"Is that so? How did you find me anyways?" she asked.

"That one there. Told me you were looking for me," he said, pointing over her shoulder to Enjolras.

"Enjolras?" she turned around. "You found him for me?"

"I saw a bunch of kids and just asked if any of them might have known your brother and as luck would have it he was among them," Enjolras explained.

"Thank you," she said. She looked as if she might want to say more. "Thank you." And then before he realized it, she was hugging him. She pulled back quickly and laughed. "Look at the blushing beauty. You can preach the gospel to the hundreds but any sort of human contact and you're blushing like a girl," she teased. Then looking him dead in the eye she said very seriously. "But really thank you. It means a lot to me." She smiled. She was very happy that night and Enjolras was inordinately proud that it was he who had brought about such happiness. He didn't even feel the need to argue with her that night.

The weeks passed and Enjolras slowly became aware of something. He liked arguing with Eponine and he liked making her happy. At first he hadn't questioned this. But then he began to wonder why exactly he liked doing those things so much. She was smart and funny, yes. She was his friend, yes. But that didn't explain why he would much rather talk to her than anyone else. Before, he would spend his nights rotating conversations amongst all the boys. He was finding more and more now that his time was being monopolized by Eponine.

It was odd and for the first time in his life, Enjolras found something that his mind couldn't comprehend. In between his thoughts of revolution, were thoughts made up of Eponine. Her smile, her laugh, her eyes, her hair, just her. He would think back to all the conversations they had, all the witty remarks she said, all the times he had really truly gotten her angry. He just wanted to relive them and he didn't know why. And odder still, he didn't care to know why.

One night, Joly and he were examining some maps of Paris when he heard her somewhere in the background laughing. He wanted to know why she was laughing, who had made her laugh. He looked over his shoulder and found her in the midst of the boys, clutching her stomach as she laughed. He suddenly found it a little hard to breathe and his heart seemed to be going too fast. He rubbed his chest and frowned, turning back around. "What's the matter?" Joly asked, noticing his frown.

"I'm not sure, I think I need some air," he said, "I feel almost queasy but not really." Joly backed away from him, fearing whatever germs he could get from his friend. "I'll be back in a moment," Enjolras said, making his way to the door. Once outside, he sucked in huge breaths of the chilly night air, clearing his mind and slowing his heart. He hoped he wasn't getting sick. That was the last thing that he needed to happen. After a few minutes he decided he was fine and it had just been the heat and the wine and just whatever. He went back to Joly and started his discussion again. "Enjolras," said a voice that he knew too well. His heart started speeding up again and when he turned to look at her he could feel the blood creeping up his cheeks. He really did hope he wasn't coming down with a fever.

"What's the matter?" he asked her.

"Nothing. I'll probably not be around for a bit. My dad doesn't think I'm pulling in enough money and wants me to help him with some _jobs_," she said, scowling in disgust at her line of work. "But I'm going now so I thought I'd say good-bye."

"Going?" he echoed her. "Right now?" For some reason he felt oddly disappointed. He didn't want her to go yet. He'd barely talked to her.

"Yes. It's getting late," she said, glancing over her shoulder at the sound of Marius' loud laughter. She turned back around, sighing softly. "Well, I'll be off then." She started to go but Enjolras impulsively reached out a hand and laid it on her arm.

"Wait, just a moment. I was getting ready to leave myself. I'll walk you home," he said. _Why did I say that? I have so much work left to do_, he thought, mentally berating himself. Eponine's face lit up and she smiled.

"Thanks, if it's not too much trouble," she said. Enjolras couldn't help the feeling of pride swelling up when she smiled. Smiles meant happy and he liked making her happy. He quickly grabbed his coat and swept up his books and papers from the table ignoring the confused and protesting looks Joly was giving him. _So much work to do_, he thought but then looking at Eponine, waiting for the door by him he didn't care. As they walked, they talked and laughed and for one of the first times ever they had a real, true conversation. Not an argument or a debate, playful banter or witty repartee, just a conversation about his life, about hers. He told her about a new book he was reading. She told him about a pet rat she used to have. He listened while she told him about life growing up in the inn. She listened while he told her his fears for the revolution. They had meandered through the streets of the city, taking the most indirect route possible. Neither minded, neither cared. It was very late, past midnight in fact, when they finally reached Eponine's home. She was grinning up at him. "Well, good night. Thanks for walking me home."

"My pleasure," he returned. And it truly was. She glanced back at him right before she went inside and his heart reached superhuman speeds and his breath wasn't going into his lungs properly. "I'll have to ask Joly if something's wrong," he muttered as he turned away. The walk back home was lonely and he really, really wished Eponine was with him. Or that he was with her. It didn't really matter just so long as he was near her. It suddenly clicked why he had offered to walk with her in the first place. Why he liked arguing with her all the time and making her smile. He liked being around her. That was his new favorite thing.

**A/N: Heya! Thanks for all the reviews and follows! I feel like they might be getting slightly OOC (although quite frankly any Enjolras-in-love is out of character. Let me know what you think. :)**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Hola! Just a bit of a filler chapter. And thanks for all the reviews and follows. You all make me very very happyful! 3**

"I enjoy her company, Combferre, how is that cause for concern?" Enjolras said, huffily. This was the second time Combferre had alluded to the amount of time he was spending with Eponine. "I spend time with you. Is that cause for concern?"

"You know that's not the same thing," Combferre insisted.

"How is it not the same thing? I have meaningful conversations with her in which opinions are exchanged and views are discussed," Enjolras exclaimed.

"It's just that Joly mentioned that you left him to escort her home the other night," Combferre said, after a moment. "You left your _work_ to escort her home. You've never escorted her before. More shockingly, you've never left your work."

"I did the gentlemanly thing and took her home. If you want to lecture someone on romances being a distraction go talk to Courfeyrac or Prouvaire!" Enjolras spat. This was annoying him. Yes, Eponine was smart, funny and admittedly, pretty but he was Enjolras and he didn't have romantic attractions.

"Enjolras, don't get angry. I don't want to offend but just…be careful," Combferre said, gently. "She's in love with Pontmercy."

"I know that. Everyone knows that. The only person who doesn't know is Pontmercy himself," Enjolras said. "Don't worry, Combferre. I'm not going to lose focus on the revolution. That is my only concern and it should be yours. Not whether I'm going to be distracted by some girl." His angry glare efficiently ended the conversation and Combferre sighed and walked away.

Only moments later, Joly came up to his table. "How's the speech coming along?" the cheerful man asked.

"It's…coming along. I'm trying to work in the bit about fair wages and well it's coming along," Enjolras shrugged. Remembering Combferre's admonitions of earlier he said, "And I'm sorry I left you the other night. I just thought I'd walk Eponine home."

"Don't worry. I was fine. It was a bit unexpected but I finished the maps. If you want to see them…" he gestured over his shoulder towards the table littered with papers.

"It's fine. I'll look them over later. But thank you for finishing them," he said.

"It's not often you actually take a break from the revolution. I don't grudge you it. Besides, Eponine looked like she needed the company," Joly said, affably.

Enjolras nodded. "Yes, besides it was late and you know how the streets are at night."

Joly grinned. "You don't need to justify your actions. It was plain to see you wanted to go and plain to see she was glad of the company."

"Well, I was only trying to be a gentleman," Enjolras muttered. Had it really been apparent he wanted to go? Had he wanted to go? It had been a spur of the moment decision. He hadn't thought about what had been going through his mind. It had been because he liked being around her. But that meant nothing. Didn't it? He liked being around his friends. That's why they were his friends because he liked being around them. Because they shared a common cause, held the relatively same views. They had good times together. Well whenever Enjolras let himself have a good time. Right. Eponine was his friend and because she was a lady, he escorted her home. He suddenly remembered his racing heart and strangled breathing. "Joly, the other night, you remember when I went outside, to clear my head?" Joly nodded. "Well, I think I may be coming down with something. I felt fine today and yesterday but a couple times that night it felt a little hard to breathe and like my heart was beating too fast. I don't know what symptoms those could be. And sometimes I felt a little too hot," he added.

Joly who had started with his usual please-don't-come-near-me-if-you're-sick look now wore an almost amused look and was nodding sagely. "Well, it might just have been the uh, heat of the room. If you haven't felt anything recently it might've just been a passing dizziness or something. You will probably be fine," he said with a smile. Enjolras nodded, relieved.

"Good, I just didn't want to be coming down with anything. Not right now. I need my health," he said. "We'll be going down into the lower districts soon. It's time to stop preaching to the converted. We need to start rousing the people." His face shone with that fire that was his love for Patria.

"Right, good. I'm glad," Joly said, looking for some reason as though he was relieved. "Vive la France."

"Vive la France," Enjolras replied. Joly took his leave and went to sit with Grantaire. Enjolras went back to his speech writing. He was deeply consumed by it when a scraping chair and the "thunk" of a bottle dropping on the table announced someone's presence. "Grantaire," Enjolras said in greeting, nodding briefly at the drunk.

"Enjolras," Grantaire returned. "How've you been feeling lately?"

"Fine. Why?" Enjolras asked, putting down his pen. He looked over Grantaire's shoulder where Joly was looking mildly alarmed.

"Nothing, only Joly said you might be coming down with something," the other man said. "Can't have our fearless leader be sick now, can we?"

"No, I suppose not," Enjolras said, not sure where Grantaire was going with this.

"Joly said the symptoms were surprising but not…unexpected considering," Grantaire said cryptically.

"What do you mean? Joly said I would be fine. That it was probably just the heat," Enjolras said, confused. "Considering what?"

"Nothing only considering your recent activities it's not a wonder you might have what Joly thinks you might have," Grantaire said, smiling over his bottle.

"I don't understand," Enjolras said. "Joly said I'd be fine."

"And indeed you will be. Finer than you've probably ever been in your life," Grantaire agreed, nodding his head.

"What recent activities? What did Joly say I might have?" Enjolras persisted. If he was going to be sick he wanted to know what it was and how it might be prevented.

"Too much arguing. Raises the blood-pressure," Grantaire said, wisely.

"Too much arguing?" Enjolras echoed. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means you've been arguing too much," Grantaire said, unhelpfully. Enjolras gave him a baffled look. "Just you know….take care of your heart. Who knows what will happen to it?" The drunk rose and patted him on the back. "You'll live through it, 'Jolras. Most people do." He staggered away leaving Enjolras extremely confused. _He's just had too much to drink. That's all there is to it. Joly said you're fine, so you're fine_, he thought.

Settling back down to his writing, he was soon interrupted by Courfeyrac. "Speech?" he asked gesturing at the paper he was working on. Enjolras nodded. "How've you been feeling?" Courfeyrac asked, staring at him.

"Fine. Have you been talking to Joly?" Enjolras asked, annoyed. Did Joly feel the need to tell everyone he hadn't felt well?

"Maybe. Have you seen Eponine lately?" Courfeyrac asked, quickly changing the subject.

"No. She said she wouldn't be around because she had to help her father," Enjolras informed him.

Oh, really? Funny. She didn't mention that to me," he said.

"She told me the other night when I took her home," said the blonde.

"You took her home?" Courfeyrac raised his eyebrows, grinning.

"Not like that, you idiot. I walked her to her own home," Enjolras said, glowering at him.

"Are you sure you should be doing that?" Courfeyrac asked.

"Why shouldn't I?" Enjolras replied, frowning.

"I don't know. If your health isn't good then you know maybe you shouldn't be out at night," he suggested, shrugging.

"I'm fine. Joly said I would be fine," Enjolras insisted, wondering if perhaps Joly hadn't told him everything.

"Well, that's good. Just you know….he thought you might have something but I told him it was ridiculous," Courfeyrac said, airily.

"What did he say I might have?" Enjolras asked. _Why didn't Joly tell me?_

"Oh, you know Joly. He exaggerates things. After all, it'd be highly improbable you should have that disease," Courfeyrac neatly evaded the question.

"I've been sick before. I'm not immune to diseases," said Enjolras.

"Well, there are some diseases I can't see you catching," Courfeyrac replied, vaguely.

"Why not?" Enjolras said, thoroughly confused. What had Joly said?  
"Well, you know. You're strong, healthy, and way too busy with other things to get sick," Courfeyrac said, chuckling as though at some private joke.

"I don't understand what you're saying. How can being busy not let me get sick? You're not making sense and if Joly told you I might have something then I want to know what it is," Enjolras said, his confusion giving way to annoyance.

"Relax, it's nothing. Joly's just being ridiculous," Courfeyrac replied, standing. "Well, I should be going. I just came to say good-night." He rose from the table and Enjolras watched him go, feeling extremely disgruntled. He was considering going up and asking Joly just what it was he'd been saying when Feuilly came up to him.

"Come to worry over my health?" Enjolras asked, bitterly.

"No. Should I be?" Feuilly asked, in surprise.

"No. It's nothing. Joly's just being Joly," he replied. "I'm writing my speech for tomorrow's rally. I'm trying to incorporate that point about fair wages you made."

"Oh, good. I'm glad you agreed," Feuilly said, with a smile.

"Yes, I'm just trying to see how I can go from fair wages to democracy. It's a stretch but I'll make it work somehow," Enjolras said, running his fingers through his curls.

"Too bad Eponine's not here," Feuilly commented.

"Why?" Enjolras asked, a little too sharply.

"Because she usually has good ideas about how to segue into the next point. Remember that time we were trying to make that speech on fair trials and equality? She practically wrote that speech for us," Feuilly said with a laugh.

"Yes, she's a bright girl," Enjolras mused.

"Who is?" asked Prouvaire coming up behind them.

"Eponine," Feuilly replied. "Enjolras was wishing she were here to help him write his speech."

"I was not," said Enjolras, over-indignantly. _Don't put words into my mouth_, he thought.

Prouvaire raised his eyebrows in amusement. "How's your health, Enjolras?"

"Why is everyone giving such a damn about my health?" Enjolras burst out. "JOLY!"

Everyone in the café turned at his little outburst. Joly hurried to the table, casting murderous glances at Prouvaire. "What's wrong, Enjolras?" Joly asked, wringing his hands.

"What's wrong with me? Tell me," Enjolras demanded.

Joly looked around anxiously. "What do you mean?" Joly asked.

"Why is it that Grantaire, Courfeyrac and now Prouvaire have felt compelled to inquire about my health? I can only assume it is because I mentioned to you that I had felt unwell," Enjolras accused.

"I only explained your symptoms and was speculating on what it might be," Joly mumbled.

"And what might they be?" Enjolras persisted.

"It could be a number of things," Joly replied, "I may have got a bit carried away. There's no cause for concern. And no cause to gossip about it." He turned and looked over his shoulder at his friends at this last bit. "Honestly, Enjolras, just ignore them. There really is nothing wrong with you."

"If you're not telling me something, Joly…" he left the threat hanging and Joly put up his hands defensively.

"I've told you the truth," Joly said. Enjolras scowled but let the subject drop. Maybe this is why he would rather talk to Eponine. Because she wasn't a bunch of annoying blockheads. He just wanted to work in peace. Why did they have to keep bringing up his health and grinning like it was the joke of the century? In the corner he saw Bahorel talking excitedly to Combferre and the pair kept glancing over at him. What now? More issues about his health. Surely Combferre would tell him whatever it was that had all the boys gossiping. He made his way to his trusted friend.

Bahorel saw him coming and quickly left leaving Combferre alone to Enjolras. "What's going on?"

"They're just being idiots. Pay them no mind," Combferre said, immediately.

"What has Joly said?" he insisted. "He must have said something."

"As I understand it, he made some joke on your behalf about your health and the boys can't seem to get over it," Combferre explained. "I don't know what the joke was."

"I don't see how what I told him was funny. I only said my heart was racing and I had trouble breathing. Where is the humor in that?" Enjolras said, sulkily.

"Those 'symptoms' are commonly associated with love," Combferre said, casually.

"So he made a joke that I was in love?" Enjolras asked incredulously.

"It would appear so," his friend replied.

"Ridiculous," Enjolras scoffed. Then as realization slowly dawned on him he turned to give Combferre an exasperated look. "It's because I walked Eponine home, isn't it? Mon Dieu, you'd think I'd slept with her."

"They're just having fun. If you say you have no feelings for Eponine, then you have no feelings for her. And you're going to keep it that way, right?"

"Like I said before, Combferre, Patria is my only love," Enjolras declared. He went back to his table. He didn't like the boys talking about him like this. Making speculations about his heart. Honestly, considering the amount of affairs they had with women they were not ones to talk about romantic distractions. He did not like Eponine and himself being the center of speculation. This was not one of his favorite things.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Hi people! Sorry it's been a while. I was feeling a little uninspired and a bit busy this weekend. Speaking of this weekend wasn't the Les Mis performance at the Oscars all kinds of amazing? I was freaking out with the perfection of it. But, anyways, yay, here's another chapter. Enjoy!**

He missed her. Desperately. She had been gone for a week and this was the longest he had gone without seeing her in more than four months. When he saw someone coming up the stairs, he would wait with bated breath to see if it was Eponine. His heart would sink when it wasn't. He found himself constantly glancing out the window, hoping to see her waiting for him to invite her up. He would never admit how much he missed her, certainly not to the boys. They had become insufferable, making him miss Eponine even more.

Joly's joke about him had spawned a whole new series of jokes for the boys. They seemed to have a joke for everything he did. If he was about to start a speech it was, "Are you sure your up to this, Enjolras? You're not too fragile?" When he ended his speech it was, "Amazing speech. It's really got my heart racing." If he was reading a book it was, "What're you reading? A romance novel?" When he was writing a speech it was, "You sure you can finish it? You don't need Eponine's help?" He couldn't even take a drink of water without someone asking, "Is it too hot in here? Is the water cooling you down?" He was going crazy. He didn't like being at the butt of every joke. Why couldn't Joly have kept his stupid mouth shut? He was desperately missing Eponine's company. She wouldn't talk nonsense (well, she might but at least it wouldn't be about their romantic attachment). And the boys wouldn't tease him about her if she was around. Well, actually they might. But it didn't matter. He just wished someone was around who wasn't going to say, "How's your health?" the moment he walked in the door.

Their rallies in the slums were slow-going but at least they had a small crowd that stuck around. The first time the only people who stopped were small children, curious and uninterested, or old women with nothing better to do. When they realized he and his friends weren't going to go away, a few more stopped to actually listen. At first had been small groups of young women, attracted by the handsome bourgeois boys. Then the men came to see what the women were looking at and some stayed, interested by their words. Enjolras had learned to tailor his speeches to fit the understanding of these poor uneducated. He learned to recognize when he had used vocabulary far beyond the reach of the streets. He discovered that subjects he had assumed everyone understood needed explaining. Sometimes it was taxing having to constantly clarify and answer questions but this was what he wanted to do. Educate the poor so they would know just how badly they were being oppressed and so they would take a stand with him.

Every time he was making speeches and replying to questions, he was constantly scanning the crowd searching for her. Word, surely, had spread that a group of students was preaching to the people. Surely Eponine might have found time to come to at least one of their rallies. But he never saw her. It was beginning to worry him. One day he asked Gavroche if he knew where his sister was. The boy shrugged. "Haven't seen her around? How long's it been since you last saw her?" When Enjolras told him more than a week, the little boy's face clouded. "I'll see if I can find her. I hope Papa hasn't touched her." Enjolras was gripped with terror at those words. Was that why she hadn't been around? Had she been too badly hurt to come? Or worse? What if she was dead? Enjolras did not allow his thoughts to entertain that possibility. "Don't worry, m'seuir, I'll find her," Gavroche assured him with a smile.

Enjolras waited anxiously for his little friend to report, but when Gavroche came around one night he had nothing to tell. "I asked around. Tried to even ask Mama or Azelma but I never could get them alone to ask. I didn't see Ponine around at all. Nobody's seen much of her." Enjolras' face must have shown the extreme worry he felt, for the boy smiled. "She's alive. I know that much. I just don't know what she's been doing or where she's been going." _Well, at least she is alive,_ he thought. _Was alive_, mocked a voice in the back of his mind. _Is_, he corrected the voice. And so, anxiously, he looked for Eponine in the crowd, hoped she'd come to the café, and sighed when she wasn't there.

One day, he had just finished one of their rallies. He was walking home, trailing behind the rest of the boys, submerged in his thoughts. Walking past an alley, a pitiful pleading voice overridden by gruff angry ones dragged him from his thoughts. He backtracked to the entrance of the alley and saw several hulking figures surrounding a smaller figure cowering against the wall. "I don't have anything else," the trapped man wailed. "I swear, that's it."

One of the large men cuffed him soundly and muttered something threatening. "I tried, I tried, that's all I could get," the other man insisted. "If you let me go, I can make double that." This was greeted with harsh laughter and then the beating began. Enjolras decided now was the time to intervene. This wasn't the first time he had interrupted a beating. He had gotten involved in several such incidents, although he had always had at least one of his friends with him and the attackers had been smaller and fewer. But now wasn't the time to think about numbers. This man needed help and Enjolras wasn't about to let him go without it. Hurrying down the alley, he called out to the men. "Hey, leave him alone." This sufficiently distracted the gang to stop pummeling the poor man and turn towards Enjolras. "Leave him alone," he repeated.

"Or what?" growled one of the brutes.

"The man won't be of any use to you half-dead," Enjolras reasoned, electing to ignore the question. "Let him go." Enjolras had been in fights before. But never with so many and by himself. He almost considered calling for his friends, but they were probably out of ear-shot by now and hadn't noticed his disappearance. The huge man in front of him looked him over a moment but then jerked his head towards the rest. "C'mon boys." The other men exchanged glances and released their victim, who slumped to the ground, moaning softly. To Enjolras' utter surprise, the men began to move back down the alley. Enjolras hurried to the man's side.

"Are you alright?" he asked the poor man.

"Thank you," the man gasped. "Thank you." Enjolras nodded, shushing him and was about to try lifting the man to his feet when he was slammed from behind into the wall. The breath was knocked from him and no sooner did he turn around then he was met with a volley of savage blows. Barely understanding what was going on, he swung out blindly, his fists sometimes making contact but mostly just swinging through empty air. His head was reeling, blood poured from his split lip; all around him was the sound of rough laughter. Vaguely, he became aware that the beaten man had risen and was now dealing out his own pitiful blows to the men. This heartened Enjolras; he was not alone. But still the pair received the worst.

"Stop!" he heard a shrill scream. "Get off them." Enjolras found himself being pushed away from the men, a small figure interposing itself.

"What do you think you're doing, Ponine?" one of the men shouted at her. _Ponine?_ Enjolras thought, confusedly. He looked more closely at the small person, wrapped in a huge trench coat. The person turned looking over its shoulder and he saw that it was indeed Eponine, with hair tucked under a cap and in a man's clothes but Eponine all the same. "What's the meaning of this?" the man growled and she turned back around.

"I'm saving your sorry neck. This is clearly some bourgeois boy. You want the police down on us?" she hissed. "You want him going with a report?" The big man wiped his nose and looked towards Enjolras. His clothes, although now bloody and torn, were undoubtedly those of a bourgeois.

"What the hell's he doing here?" one of the men asked.

"How should I know? But it doesn't matter. He's going to go to the police and we'll all be done for. You're all idiots," she replied, fiercely.

"Shut your mouth, girl," the lead man said, slapping her. Enjolras lunged forward, trying to strike out at the man. How dare the bastard lay a hand on a woman? Eponine caught him and pushed him back again.

"No," she whispered, "It's not worth it." Turning back around, still holding Enjolras behind her she addressed the men. "Make him pay and let him go. We'll get whatever Lejeune didn't make," she gestured at the other man who was again slumped on the ground, against the wall.

A moment of tense silence passed before the man nodded stiffly. "Look here, boy. If you don't run to the police and give us everything you have, we'll let you off." Stepping forward threateningly, "But if you rat on us, I swear I'll make you pay." Eponine had turned to look at him and he met her gaze. _Just take the deal_, her eyes pleaded. Enjolras looked back up and nodded. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his purse, tossing it to the men.

Opening it, the man poured the glittering heap into his hand and grinned toothily. "Much obliged, m'seuir," he said, sweeping a mocking bow. The others laughed and within moments they had melted away into the darkness, leaving Eponine, Enjolras and Lejeune alone.

"You saved my life," Lejeune broke the silence in a quavering voice. "Thank you."

"I'd be ashamed if I could not help my fellow man," Enjolras replied. "And thank you for helping me fight them."

"I couldn't let you fight my fight for me," the other man said. Turning to Eponine he nodded. "Thank _you_, mademoiselle," he said.

"Go home, Lejeune. Have your wife clean you up," she replied, gruffly. He nodded and with a last grateful glance to Enjolras scurried off. The pair left alone, Enjolras turned about to thank Eponine when she started laughing.

"What?" he asked puzzled, finding absolutely no humor in their situation. Was he always to be around people who found things funny he did not?

"You actually did it," she said, chuckling. "You _actually_ did it."

"Did what?" he asked, still confused.

"Roused the people!" she exclaimed. "You stood up for the poor, fought their battles and inspired them to fight with you. Lejeune is one of the biggest cowards I know but the fact that he fought with you….you must've made quite an impression on him."

Enjolras considered this a moment. So he had roused the people. He felt a small bit of satisfaction and relief. Perhaps when the time came for the ultimate battle, the people would rise just as easily. "Told you they weren't just empty words," he grinned. She laughed.

"Job well done," she said, smiling. "And I've heard you've even taken your pretty speeches to the slums. What is this? I leave and suddenly you're making all this progress?"

"I guess since I had no one to argue with I could actually get things done," he replied.

"Fancy that. I should stay away more often," she said.

"Please don't," he blurted out. She looked up at him in surprise but made no comment. Instead, she pulled a battered handkerchief from her pocket and offered it to him.

"You look a mess," she said. He took it from her gently dabbed at his lip, nodding his thanks. "So where are the rest of the boys? How did you come to be here by yourself?"

"I was walking behind them when I noticed what was going on down here. I didn't think to call them and they probably haven't even noticed I'm gone," he explained. The bleeding had finally stopped and he handed the bloodied handkerchief back to her. "Sorry about the mess."

"Don't worry. I wouldn't have given it to you if I cared if it got bloody. I'll recommend my personal physician to you. Dr. Joly. He can patch you up _really _nicely," she said, grinning. "I know from experience."

He chuckled. "I'll be sure to see him." There was a moment of silence before he asked, "How have you been, Eponine? I haven't seen you around lately."

"I've been busy," she said, quickly. "He's got me working with the gang, as you can tell. They usually work at night and I haven't been able to stop by although I wished I could."

"But you're alright?" he pressed. "Gavroche went looking for you but he said no one had seen you around."

"He went looking for me?" she asked in surprise. "Little scamp doesn't usually do that."

"I asked him to," Enjolras admitted, reddening a little.

"Why? Didn't have enough people around to argue with?" she teased, although she looked quite pleased he had looked for her.

"It gets a little boring when everyone agrees with you," he replied, lightly.

"I'll try and be around soon so you don't die of boredom," she said. "But you better get home before you die of _those_." She gestured to the blood and bruises marring his face.

"Thank you, Eponine," he said, sincerely. "It probably would have been a lot worse if you weren't there."

"Oh, yes, you're not the only one who saves the downtrodden," she teased. He grinned, painful as it was. Then, almost hesitatingly she added, "And it was good of you to help Lejeune."

"I didn't want anyone accusing me of just talking big," he said, jokingly.

"No, you don't do that. I know I always tell you that you do but you proved me wrong. When I heard there were a bunch of bourgeois school boys talking equality to the people, I was sorta proud I knew you all," she said, with a smile. "I'm pretty proud I know such good people. Now get on home before you bleed to death." Enjolras nodded and mumbled good-bye and set off towards home. His beat up face attracted many a questioning glance but he didn't notice. And he hardly noticed while Joly fussed and patched him up. He didn't notice the pain, he didn't notice anything. The only thing he was aware of was that he had made Eponine proud. That was worth all the pain of any amount of beatings. _I made her proud_, was the very last thing he thought before falling asleep.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Hello beautiful people! I whipped this up while pretending I didn't have a crap-load of physics to finish. So enjoy. This is a little fluffy but hopefully you like it. Oh, and thank you for all the lovely reviews/follows/favorites. You make me mucho happy.**

She did come around, as she'd promised. It was the night after the fight. Enjolras had just come up the stairs and was immediately accosted by Joly. "How are you feeling? Sick?"

Enjolras sighed. "Really, Joly, this joke is getting old. It's been old. If you all have nothing better to do than inquire about my health then –"

Joly quickly cut him off. "I meant your bruises from the fight. The cut's not infected? Aside from, I'm sure, feeling sore, you are fine?"

"Oh, right. Sorry. Yes. I'm a bit stiff but I'll survive. No infection," he said, reassuringly.

"Good, if you notice any inflammation or unnatural coloring, let me know immediately," Joly insisted.

"Ah, I see you took my advice and went to my physician." The pair turned to see Eponine coming up the stairs, smiling.

"Eponine!" Joly cried in delight. "So good to see you."

"Joly! I can see you've found a new patient to operate on," she replied, looking at Enjolras.

"Yes, though I hear if you hadn't intervened I might've been able to set my first broken bone," he stated. "Terribly disappointed about that."

"My apologies, m'seuir, next time I find a street scuffle I'll send them all to you and you can stitch and bandage to your heart's content," she said, with a laugh. "How are you feeling, Enjolras? I must say that bruise is a lovely shade of purple."

"Yes, isn't it? I think it goes well with my jacket, no?" he kidded. She laughed and the two, still talking, went inside the café. Joly was left still standing in the door, wondering if he had properly heard Enjolras just make a joke. The boys welcomed her back warmly, with many a toast. She entertained them with her stories of her adventures since she had been gone.

They were in the middle of yet another bout of laughter when Marius entered the room. He was late like always. Enjolras found himself carefully watching Eponine's reaction when she noticed his arrival. Her gaze lingered on her old friend and a little smile crept onto her face. "Ponine! You're back," Marius exclaimed, making his way through the others to catch her up in a hug. Her face did not take on the usual look of beatitude when he touched her. She grinned and seemed happy enough to see him but she didn't seem to be her usual ecstatic-beyond-words. Enjolras wondered if perhaps she had (finally) moved on. He didn't realize how long he had been watching the pair talking until Grantaire's face suddenly filled his vision.

"Staring much?" the drunk asked.

Enjolras started. "What? No. What?" he spluttered. "I wasn't staring."

Grantaire laughed. "Sure you weren't," his voice heavy with sarcasm. "What should we call your brooding gaze so obviously fixed on those two? Observing? Glaring?"

"I was thinking. I didn't realize I was staring at them," he lied. Eponine's girlish laugh and Marius' chuckles were heard above the noisy talking and Enjolras couldn't help peering over Grantaire's shoulder to look at them.

"Shouldn't you be charging over there in a haze of jealous glory?" Grantaire asked, tauntingly.

"I'm not jealous," Enjolras insisted, seriously. "Why should I be jealous?"

"Maybe because your favorite verbal sparring partner is currently engaged in a conversation with someone other than you," Grantaire suggested, with a mocking smile.

"Eponine has a right to talk to anyone she wants," Enjolras replied, not denying the fact that she was as, Grantaire put it, his favorite verbal sparring partner. "Anyways, you know how she is with Marius. Any moment with him is the best moment of her life." He really did try his best not to sound bitter about it.

"And you're fine with this?" Grantaire asked, disbelievingly.

"Why shouldn't I be?" Enjolras retorted.

"You're not answering the question, mon ami," Grantaire shot back, smoothly.

"Of course I'm fine with it. She's happy, so I am too," Enjolras exclaimed, flustered. Grantaire turned a wide-eyed gaze towards him, the bottle frozen half-way to his lips. "What?" Enjolras demanded, unsettled by his friend's look of shock.

"Mon Dieu! You really _are_ in love with her," Grantaire whispered. It wasn't a question but just a surprised understanding.

"Excuse me?!" It was Enjolras' turn to look shocked. "That's preposterous."

"It is indeed. Who would have thought you would ever fall in love?" Grantaire breathed, wonderingly. "Not to say I didn't see this coming but still….I admit I'm in a bit of shock."

"What are you talking about?" Enjolras asked, entirely bewildered. "I'm not in love! You really _have _had too much to drink tonight, Grantaire."

"Oh, shut up. You're in love with her and that's all there is to it. Maybe _you_ don't know it yet but _I_ do," Grantaire replied, smugly.

"What makes you think I'm in love?" Enjolras demanded.

"Enjolras, when a man says that he's happy simply on the account of someone else being happy, it's because he loves that person. If France were happy and free, you'd be happy too, because you love France. Same principle applies here," Grantaire explained. "It's simple really."

"I- I, _what_? I don't – you know – just." He was too flabbergasted to get words out. "Just shut up and go away, Grantaire," he finally managed. Grantaire shrugged and complied, leaving Enjolras in a state of great confusion. What Grantaire said was most definitely _not_ true. It just _couldn't_ be true. Eponine was his friend and thus his feelings towards her were friendly. Just because he wanted her happy didn't mean he was _in love_ with her. That was just ridiculous. He wanted all his friends to be happy and he certainly wasn't in love with them. _But you don't actively try and make them happy_, said a daring little voice. Enjolras ignored it because he had no answer to it.

Wasn't love supposed to make you feel all fuzzy and warm or something? Wasn't that what Prouvaire was always writing about? Shouldn't he _know _if he was in love? Enjolras never liked not knowing things. _Except you don't mind not knowing why you like making Eponine happy_, that stupid voice piped up. It's not that Enjolras was averse to falling in love; it's just that the idea never really occurred to him. He had just never been interested in a woman like that. There were far more important things to think about. France's freedom was at stake here. If he was in love with Eponine as Grantaire claimed, that would be a distraction from starting the revolution. _Or would it?_ asked the little voice. _Doesn't she help you make some of your best points? Hasn't she helped you more than you care to admit?_ The little voice was annoyingly reasonable. "Shut up," Enjolras told the voice.

"Excuse me?" asked Eponine, suddenly materializing before him. "Were you talking to me or yourself? Because if it was me, I wasn't saying anything."

"No, sorry. I was talking to myself," he said, embarrassed and annoyed. "I was just thinking– never mind." He had become so used to telling her all his ideas he had almost spilled the whole "Grantaire-thinks-I'm-in-love-with-you" thing.

"You alright? The boys keep making comments about your health," Eponine said, her voice etched with concern.

Enjolras rolled his eyes. "Of course they do," he muttered. "Ignore them. It's become a stupid running joke with them to ask about my health."

"Look at all the fun I miss when I'm away. I want to know the joke. Tell me," Eponine begged.

"No. You really don't want to know what it is," he assured her.

"I'm pretty sure I do. Any chance of teasing you is a chance I won't miss," she grinned. "If you don't tell me I'll get one of the boys to tell me."

"God forbid," he said, imagining all the humiliation if she did. "It's just that I was complaining about some inconsequential health-related matters and the boys have been taunting me about it all week. I literally cannot go a day without them asking how my health is."

"Oh, poor baby, it must be so difficult not having everyone bow down in fear of you," she needled. Enjolras shot her an annoyed look and she burst into laughter. "You really must lighten up, Enjolras. You'll be an old man before your time. Smile! Be happy."

"I'll be happy when people stop asking about my health," he grumbled.

Her laughing face became mock serious. "Alright. I solemnly swear I will not ask you about your health." She laid a hand over her heart.

"Sure you won't," he muttered, sarcastically.

"No, I'm serious. If your happiness depends on people never again asking how your health is – Joly excluded because, let's be real, he won't do it – I will make sure they never do it," she told him. He only looked at her skeptically. "Don't believe me?" The next thing he knew, she had climbed onto the chair beside him and was yelling for quiet. She got it immediately.

"Alrighty, gents, by order of our dear leader Enjolras, asking about his health has been banned. Any breaking of this new rule will result in immediate flogging," she pronounced. "And I mean it, boys. I have eyes and ears everywhere. I'll know if you do it." She narrowed her eyes at them and scowled threateningly. The boys laughed amiably and threw salutes, promising to obey. Hopping down lightly from the chair, she faced Enjolras who couldn't hide the smile creeping onto his face. "Problem solved. Now you have no choice but to be happy." Enjolras allowed the smile to turn into a grin. "There's a smile. My business here is finished. I've really got to go. I don't want Papa chopping my head off." Enjolras watched her go, wondering at her words. Perhaps she wanted to make him as happy as he wanted to make her.

She continued to come around. Her visits were infrequent and oftentimes short. Grantaire's staunch belief of his love still fresh in his mind, Enjolras tried not to be too glad when she came. True to their word, the boys stopped asking about his health but he had a feeling Eponine's extraction of the promise had done nothing to allay their suspicions. Enjolras didn't know what to do about that. He didn't like them thinking he was in love with her, but he didn't want to not talk to Eponine. And anyways, he had begun to notice something. It wasn't a bad something. It actually rather pleased him.

For as long as they had known her, Eponine was Marius' faithful little shadow. She tried to spend as much time with him as she could. Sure, she talked to the other boys. Heavens knew she spent a good deal of time arguing with Enjolras. But when it all came down to it, she stayed near Marius as much as possible. But now, Enjolras noticed that she had stopped making bee lines for Pontmercy. She didn't hang around near the door until he arrived. Instead, when he invited her upstairs (because it had become too much of a ritual for them to stop) she stuck with him for most of her visit. She greeted the other boys, chatted a few moments with Marius, but ultimately spent her time with Enjolras. And Enjolras, quite frankly, loved it. Being with him seemed to make her happy, he had plenty of opportunities to make her angry, and he got to be around her, talking revolution. It was all of his favorite things rolled into one. It was the new ultimate favorite thing.


	7. Chapter 7

It had been a long night and it was late. Enjolras was ensconced in his usual corner table in the café. He was tired and irritable. He had been in a bad mood all day. First of all, he had got in a huge argument with one of his professors. Then he realized when he got to the café he had forgotten his books at his flat and had to trudge all the way back. By the time he returned, it had begun to rain and he was soaked. The night only continued to go downhill. Bossuet spilled wine over some of his papers and he had had to rewrite it. Then Combferre had got a headache and went home early leaving Enjolras without his second-in-command. To top it all off, Eponine hadn't been there for a couple days and wasn't there again tonight.

He was in a foul mood. All attempts to bring him out of it were met with testily snapped answers and they backed off. "Sure this doesn't have to do with a certain young lady being absent?" Grantaire whispered.

"No, I'm not sure. Now go away, Grantaire," he growled. Since that night, Grantaire had continued to jibe at him about being in love with Eponine. It always got under Enjolras' skin because he never knew how to answer to it. He wasn't about to affirm it but denying it felt like a lie. Either way he was in no mood to sort out his tangled feelings and Grantaire's teasing only made it worse. The boys had drifted home one by one until he was the very last of them. _I should go home. Get some sleep. Wake up and start this whole thing over, refreshed_, he thought. He had been thinking it for the past hour but still hadn't moved from his spot. He stared at the wine stained papers, the smeared ink, and sighed. He would finish this paragraph and leave. Something in his mind registered a creaking from the stairs but he paid no attention to it. It was probably just Grantaire too drunk to find his way home. He buried his head in his hands and tried to remember what he had written.

"You're here late, aren't you?" His head snapped up at the sound of her voice.

"Eponine!" he said, not even bothering to hide the delight in his voice. Just the sound of her voice had lifted him from his dismal state and the sight of her standing in the doorway elevated him into one of happiness. "I was trying to finish this." He gestured at the paper. "Why are you here?"

"I was passing by and saw the lights. Thought one of you might be in here so I thought I'd just see," she said. She had crossed the room by this time and was sitting down –not across from him like usual – but next to him. He saw she was shivering and wet and he quickly doffed his jacket and draped it over her shoulders. She smiled up at him in appreciation and leaned over to see what he was working on. "What happened to your papers?"

"Bossuet happened to them, that's what," he sighed. She nodded sympathetically.

"Well, at least the whole thing's not ruined," she said. She had leaned in closer to read it and that's when he noticed the blood, hidden at first by her hair but beginning to drip down her temple.

"Mon Dieu, are you alright?" he said, gently reaching out to brush away her hair. She shied away from his touch and he jerked his hand back. "My apologies," he whispered.

"It's fine. I'm fine. Just don't touch it. It hurts," she murmured. He looked carefully at her. She looked exhausted as though weighed down by a world of sorrows and when she looked up at him he saw hints of pain and hurt flash through her eyes. He reached into his pocket and drew out a handkerchief. Handing it to her, she cautiously pressed it to her head. They were silent. From outside there was a low rumble of thunder in the distance. Lowering the handkerchief she grimaced at the sight of the blood. "Sorry about ruining it," she mumbled.

"I wouldn't have given it to you if I cared if it got bloody," he said, unconsciously echoing her words. "What happened?" It was the first time he had ever asked her. No matter how many times she came in bruised and beaten, he had held his tongue and let her keep her privacy. But tonight he wanted to know. It wasn't out of petty curiosity; he wasn't trying to pry into her life. He was just so angry that she was hurt he wanted to know who was responsible.

"Don't ask," she said, looking away.

"Please tell me," he said, lightly touching her arm. She flinched at his touch.

"No," she whispered. "You don't need to know."

"I want to know," he said. "Eponine, if someone's hurting you and I know someone is, then please tell me. You don't need to get hurt. We can help you. Any one of us would gladly do anything to save you from this. Please, just tell me."

"I was working and ran into a guy who was a little drunk and a little rough. Happy now?" she said, edgily.

"Eponine, please be careful. I know I've said this before and you don't agree but stealing is only going to get you in more trouble," he said.

She looked up at him and the shame that filled her eyes cut straight to his heart. "I wasn't stealing," she whispered. It was so quiet he almost didn't hear it. He wished he hadn't. He closed his eyes as anger and sorrow filled him. "He made me do it. I fought it and fought it but he made me. I would have rather been killed but he's smart. He knows he won't get any money from me dead." Her voice was still quiet but it was filled with intense emotion. "God, I am such a disgusting creature."

"Don't say that!" It came out more harshly than he wanted it to. "Don't ever say that. You are not disgusting." She turned to look at him, her eyes bright with tears. "You were forced into this. None of this is your fault. I am so sorry."

"Don't apologize. You have nothing to apologize for," she said, gently.

"No, this…what if I could have prevented this? I could've roused the people. This oppression. That young women must go through this is…I wish I could have stopped this…if the rich could only see what the people have gone through…if the king," he was too angry to string his words into a coherent sentence.

"Enjolras, none of this is your fault. You're trying to help the people and that's more than some of them deserve. And even your fine words couldn't change this. This is just humanity," she said, bitterly.

"No. This isn't all of humanity. This is just the worst of it. There's goodness, too," he insisted.

"When you've been through what I've been through it's impossible to believe that," she said, solemnly.

"No. You cannot give up this. This is why we are fighting. For goodness, for liberty from the evils of this world," he said, his words growing louder.

"You're fighting for things in dreams. They are nothing but dreams. I used to think that dreams could come true but they can't. I've woken up, Enjolras. It's time you did, too. All your talk of beauty and love and goodness – those are just ideas. Ideas that don't exist," she yelled.

"No! You're wrong. So long as there are people willing to fight for those ideas they exist. I don't care what I have to do to make them exist, they will be realities. You cannot tell me they don't exist. They exist in all our lives, down to the most miserable of the miserable. Hasn't there ever been a moment in your life when you've been happy? Hasn't there been anything or anyone who made you happy? Your brother? Marius?"

"You," she spoke softly. His rant came to an abrupt halt. She blushed and looked away from his surprised face. He reached out and took her hand, willing her to face him. She did. "After we lost the inn and everything, I was treated like dirt. Treated like scum until I felt that was all I was. Then I met Marius and he was the first person to treat me with kindness. I think that is why I loved him. But then you…you treat me like I'm a person."

"You are a person," he said, gently squeezing her hand.

"You made me remember that," she said, smiling shyly. "It's was so hard to see that. Especially now. I'm sorry I said those things but I was feeling so worthless. I didn't think there was any happiness left in the world. But you just now made me remember that there is."

They were both silent. He was staring intently at her during this revelation and she kept her eyes averted, as though afraid to look at him. Finally, he asked softly, "Do I make you happy?"

She looked at him then. "Yes." He smiled.

"Good," he said. "I don't know what it is but when you're happy, I'm happy. I used to just like making you angry because you said really amazing things when you were but then that turned into trying to make you smile. And then all I wanted to do was be around you. I don't know what it is. Even when you made me so mad and really annoyed me I wanted to be around you. Even when you said stupid things."

"I don't say stupid things!" she interjected, laughing.

"You do too. Sometimes you just go off on these random little tangents that have nothing to do with anything and just are really stupid," he said, ever truthful.

"You know, if I could have a franc for every time something stupid's come out of your mouth I would be richer than the king," she teased.

"If I say so many stupid things why do you stay around? You always seem to know better. Go start your own revolution," he retorted

"It's so much more entertaining to listen to a bunch of baby school boys prattling on like they've got a clue," she returned, demurely.

"If we didn't have a clue we wouldn't be trying to fight against the oppression of the poor," he argued.

"Fighting? I think you mean talking? What fighting do you do exactly?" she scoffed.

"I fight with you a hell of a lot," he countered.

"That's only because you like being around me," she rejoined.

"Yes, I do," he agreed. Suddenly, there were too many emotions running through him all too complex to be expressed by words. So he just took her face in his hands and kissed her softly. He didn't know why he did it. It was stupid. Stupid and wonderful. Stupid, wonderful and crazy. He felt like an idiot, like a king, like he was flying, like he was falling and it was all magnificent. After a moment of shock, she kissed him back. Her hands moved to his curls and his arms wrapped around her waist pulling her tight. Their kiss was a sweet and simple gesture, lasting an eternal moment, but it expressed all the words they did not know how to say. Finally they pulled away. "I've got to go," she whispered against his lips.

"Don't go," he protested, knowing full well she would.

"I'll see you tomorrow," she said, kissing him again.

"Tomorrow," he confirmed. She stood and he followed suit, walking with her down the stairs and to the door. "Can I walk you home?"

She shook her head. "Not tonight. Not that I don't want you but my father will be looking for me and if he sees you….well let's say your pretty face wouldn't look the same when he was done with you." He smiled sadly, wishing what she said didn't have to be true. "Good-night," she said after he gave her one last kiss. He watched her walk off through the pouring rain. The rain brushed against his face reminding him of her kisses. He smiled to himself. He had definitely found a new favorite thing.

**A/N: Ugh, don't know how I like this. I don't know. Did I rush it? What do you think? **


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Sorry this took so long. I've had lots of icky mid-terms. But here it is, better late than never. Thank you to all the people who reviewed/followed/favorited. I've finally figured out where I'm going with this plot. (Yeah, I'm pretty lame for not having a plot thought out.) So, happy Friday. Hope your weekend's as beautiful as Enjy's face. **

He woke the next morning with a happy feeling connected to Eponine. Everything seemed wonderful that day, the weather, the people around him, his studies. He wasn't as distracted as he thought he might be. Though his mind strayed often to Eponine, thoughts of her only boosted his happiness and confidence and he breezed through his studies and had several good ideas about the revolution. He strode along to the café, thoughts of revolution and Eponine tumbling around in his mind. He kept trying to separate them but they didn't want to be separated. So he let them get mixed up. "Well hello, m'seuir," she materialized beside him, like one of his thoughts had taken form.

"Good afternoon," he said, with a smile that barely fit on his face. He liked the way her hand so naturally slipped into his. "Coming to the Musain?" he asked.

"Yes. Do you mind?" she replied. He frowned a little bit.

"No. Why would I mind? You come there all the time and I've never minded," he answered.

"Well, I was just sort of wondering…that's why I was waiting for you – "

"You were waiting for me?" he interrupted. He remembered how she used to wait for Marius. Now it was him. That made him rather happy.

"Yes but anyways, um, how to put this…." She trailed off and squinted at the sky. "How or do you care if, I mean, the boys…" He suddenly caught on to her thought process.

"Do I care if the boys know about..." he raised their clasped hands and she nodded, happy he had understood her muddled sentences. "No. I don't care. Do you?"

"I don't care if the boys know. It's _other _people I'm worried about," she said, worry briefly clouding her face.

"What people? Your father?" he asked, concerned.

"Yes, him and his gang. They don't like me so anything that makes me happy they tend to destroy," she began. He felt another surge of happiness because she had insinuated he made her happy. "But what about other people." She waved her hand at the people walking by them. "In case you haven't noticed, we've been attracting odd stares." He hadn't noticed but once she pointed out he realized how many people were giving them dirty looks. He instinctively pulled her closer. "That's not exactly going to help," she commented, with a little smirk.

"I don't care. I don't care what they think," he said, resolutely.

"Well, alright. I'm just thinking we might cause a bit of scandal. The bourgeoisie boy and the street girl. They'll think I'm your whore and that you're a no good skirt chaser," she said, with sarcastic cheer. Enjolras shrugged at this prediction.

"Doesn't matter. And anyways, if I'm supposed to be fighting for equality shouldn't that extend to everything. There'll be no class boundaries in the new France," he said, undeterred. They had reached the Musain by this time and stopped outside the old building.

"Well, just so you know, you're pristine reputation is going to be forever tarnished," she said, blithely. Enjolras smiled down at her and she rose on tiptoe and kissed him. Having thought this all through and worrying all day, Eponine was pleased to find he did not care. She had been afraid he would want to distance himself from her. Still hand in hand, they climbed the stairs to the café and were greeted by half a dozen shocked faces.

"Seen a ghost?" Eponine teased, tightening her grasp on Enjolras' hand.

"No, something far more terrifying," Courfeyrac whispered, from his place by the window. He must have seen them on the street. "Did you two just...are you two?"

"Yes," Enjolras replied, trying not to blush. He surveyed the boys' reaction to this revelation. Shock, amazement, disbelief, a bit of glee fought for dominance on most of their faces. Grantaire just took a swig of his bottle and looked smug. Combferre looked a bit concerned. Enjolras took a deep breath and mentally prepared himself for the onslaught of noise. It started with a low whistle, probably Bahorel. It was like a cue and they all burst out talking at once. He was pretty sure he heard a cat call from Courfeyrac. Feuilly and Prouvaire were exchanging money, Prouvaire smirking with a "Told you so." Enjolras grinned and went to his usual table, Eponine disengaging their hands to go talk to Marius who was bewilderedly saying, "Ponine! How could you not tell me?"

Sitting down, he was immediately mobbed by the boys who wanted to know who, what, where, when, how. Enjolras told them to go away with a single glare that they immediately obeyed except Grantaire. "Well, I'm not saying I told you so but I think I get just a little credit," he said, smirking.

"Credit for what?" Enjolras asked, still annoyed at his taunting.

"Credit for knowing what was in your heart before you knew it in your mind," Grantaire replied, poetically. When Enjolras just rolled his eyes, Grantaire laughed. "Come now, Enjolras, give credit where, credit's due."

"What do you want me to say? Well, done," Enjolras said, sarcastically. "Good for you. You should sign up to be a soothsayer." Grantaire didn't respond except to laugh and slouch away. His presence was soon replaced with the much more desired one of Eponine.

"For someone not caring if people knew, you're certainly an embarrassed one," she teased, lightly. He scowled in mock annoyance. "I guess it's a new thing for you, having people know what goes on in here," she tapped his chest, "as opposed to up here." She tapped his head.

"Well, according to them they've all known how I feel. Apparently, it's only me who doesn't," he said sulkily. She laughed and slid her hand into his and again he noticed how naturally it fit there. They sat in a moment of companionable silence, neither feeling the need to say anything. Combferre came to join them.

"Might I have a word with you, Enjolras?" Combferre said, politely nodding a greeting. Enjolras frowned at the sudden formality.

"I'll leave you two to your important talks," Eponine said, rising tactfully and taking her leave. They waited a moment until she was out of earshot.

"What is it, Combferre? I can see something is bothering you," Enjolras asked, as his friend took a seat across from him. "I feel you don't approve."

"It's not that I don't approve. But is it prudent, Enjolras?" Combferre said.

"I know I told you I wouldn't have any feelings for Eponine but how am I supposed to help how I feel?" Enjolras replied, defensively.

"No one can stop you from feeling that way but you didn't have to act on those feelings," Combferre said. "I worry about the revolution –"

"And you think she will be a distraction?" Enjolras swiftly cut him off. "Combferre, you and I both know that, all feelings aside, Eponine is a valuable asset to our cause. She is a good thinker and as passionate about it as the next man. You yourself have said she has more solid advice than half our boys put together."

"It's not that I think you will be distracted from the cause by her. That is not it. It's just that, Enjolras," he leaned in closer and his serious face became quite somber, "Rallies are not all that will come of our revolution. There will be fighting. You know this. You were the one who convinced me of this. Is it safe to involve Eponine in it any more than she needs to be?"

Enjolras realized all that Combferre implied. Eponine would not be one to stay away from the inevitable fighting. And now that they had admitted feelings for each other, he did not want her there even more. There was all this extra worry now. Him worrying about her. Her worrying about him. Love, it would seem, came with a great deal of worry. "What do you advise I do?" Enjolras asked, after a moment of deep thought. "I can't very well distance myself without her being hurt. I won't hurt her like that, Combferre."

"I don't know if there is anything you can do now but when the time comes you must remember France. Now that you have her, know it will be all the harder to leave her when the time comes. Prepare her for the worst, Enjolras. No man's life is certain in battle." Enjolras understood the gravity of his words and his face reflected this. At his friend's troubled countenance, Combferre reached across the table and clasped his arm.

"Enjolras, I am certain you will do what is right. And for now, do not worry. Enjoy yourself. I am happy for you both. Just be aware that your future does not involve only you now," he said. Enjolras allowed a brief smile to flit over his face.

"Thank you, Combferre. You are a good friend," he said. Combferre rose and left the table. Enjolras sighed. Falling for Eponine had come with all these unforeseen consequences. He almost wished he hadn't but one look at her laughing at the bar with Grantaire made him forget that wish completely. He took Combferre's words and tucked them away into his heart knowing they would be proven true sometime in the future.

As the weeks passed, Enjolras' list of favorite things rapidly expanded and he couldn't decide what was at the top. Sometimes it was when she would slip up behind him, as he stood surveying a table spread with maps, and wrap her arms around his waist, her chin resting on his shoulder. Sometimes it was the way her nose would scrunch up when he made her laugh. Sometimes it was the way she would steal his red jacket and wear it all night. Sometimes it was the nights when he stayed late and she stayed with him "so he wouldn't get lonely." Most of the time, though, it was just the way that her hand would slip comfortably into his, like it belonged there.

When they were sitting around the table, debating with the rest, and he couldn't seem to get his point across and was getting frustrated, her hand would find his and give it a quick squeeze to let him know she understood. When they were arguing, because they still argued as much as they always did, she would lace their fingers together on the tabletop as though that would somehow mesh their clashing ideas. When he walked her home, he would hold her hand tightly to assure her the terrors of the night couldn't get her.

The winter was slowly thawing into spring and as Prouvaire would have said, spring was the time for love to grow and so their love did. But as their love grew, so did the anger of the people. Les Amis' rallies were serving their purpose well and the people were restless, ready for change. Enjolras knew the time would soon come for them to rise. His thoughts were turning more and more to Combferre's words and he knew it would soon be time for him to let Eponine go. But for now he held her onto her hand tightly, dreading the day he must let go. The day he must give up this favorite thing of his.


	9. Chapter 9

The time was drawing near. Enjolras knew it. He could see it in the angry faces that flocked to his rallies, hear it in the cheers that erupted noisily at the conclusions of his speeches. The revolution would soon be upon them. And with the revolution would come the fighting. Enjolras sighed as he walked towards the café. He would have to tell Eponine she couldn't come with them to the fighting soon. He shuddered at the thought of that inevitable conversation. He had carefully thought through every single protestation she would bring up and he had carefully planned out every counter-argument. He felt himself well-prepared for it. He just didn't know how to bring it up. He gathered his books and papers that had somehow become scattered all over the café during the course of the meeting, mulling over his problem.

As he came down the stairs, he saw Eponine and Courfeyrac at the bottom, apparently involved in an argument. The pair turned to face him as he approached. Eponine's face was indignant and worried. Courfeyrac's was helpless and distraught. "What's the matter?" Enjolras asked as he came near.

"This idiot has been encouraging my brother. Gavroche thinks he is going into battle," Eponine explained, narrowing her eyes at the offender.

"I was not encouraging him!" Courfeyrac interposed.

She turned on him, fiercely. "Explaining to him the finer points of shooting isn't exactly discouraging him, is it?"

"How was I supposed to know he'd take it to mean he'd be going into battle with us?" he said, defensively. Eponine just glared at him, shaking her head disapprovingly.

"You're going to be the one who has to explain to him that he can't," she said. Courfeyrac scowled and shrugged, turning to go back inside.

"Wait, Courfeyrac. I'll deal with him," Enjolras called out. Courfeyrac looked visibly relieved. Eponine cast a quizzical glance at him. Enjolras faced Eponine.

"I don't think Courfeyrac telling him is going to make any difference. He'll still come," Enjolras said, secretly voicing his own opinion about Eponine. "Gavroche will have to be preoccupied some other way so we can be certain he won't come."

"Oh? And what do you propose?" Eponine asked, guessing there was something deeper behind this. Enjolras paused a moment to compose his thoughts. The idea had come to him only moments before and he was trying to find the best way to express it.

"He's going to need to something to do and he'll have to think it's extremely important," Enjolras began, slowly. "He'll have to think it's important to the cause or he won't want to do it." He paused again and Eponine waited expectantly. "He'll need somewhere to stay, too. I don't want him on the streets during the fighting."

"I'm assuming you have some place in mind. He can't very well stay with our parents," she commented.

"He can stay in my flat," Enjolras said and Eponine's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "I want you to stay with him." Her eyebrows shot down into a scowl.

"Me? What do you mean? You want me to stay with him?" she spluttered.

"Eponine, someone needs to keep Gavroche safe. He's going to do everything he can to get back to the fighting and Courfeyrac. Those two are practically inseparable," he said.

"And the something that's he supposed to do to keep himself preoccupied? Or rather to keep _us_ preoccupied?" she asked, huffily.

"Rouse the people," he replied. "I know you are smart and intelligent and you've helped me write so many speeches I'm sure you can do it."

"Isn't that your job?" she argued.

"I'll be fighting," he said. "You have to go out to the people far from the fighting and rouse them. Explain to them what's going on. They might know there's something going on but they might not know what. You can spread the news. You and Gavroche."

"Why do I feel like this method of keeping Gavroche away is also to keep me away?" she said, scowling. "You have no say over what I do, Enjolras."

"Eponine, please understand. I want to keep you and Gavroche safe and this is the only way I know how. I have to keep you away from the fighting." She glared at him, silently, and he knew she was preparing an angry verbal assault. He tried to head it off and started talking.

"I know you don't like this –" he began.

"I sure as hell don't!"

"But please understand this is for your own good."

"Who are you to say what that is?"

"I'm not trying to control you –"

"Sure as hell looks like you are."

"You could get hurt –"

"I can take care of myself."

"And I don't know what I'd do if you got hurt."

"Send me off to Joly?"

"The battlefield is no place for you."

"It's exactly the place for me."

"The rest of us understand what could happen and we're prepared to pay the ultimate price –"

"This is my fight just as much as it is yours."

"What if you die, Eponine?"

"What if _you_ die, Enjolras?"

"I'm prepared to make that sacrifice."

"So am I."

"I can't let you. I can't let you die."

"You know what else you can't do? Tell me what to do."

"I'm being serious, Eponine!" he was almost yelling. She had been yelling, but he never raised his voice at her.

"You know, you keep talking about how I'm not being serious and I don't care," she stormed. "Well, I do care. I'm not a child, Enjolras. I know what I'm doing. I want to fight. You can't stop me. I can do whatever I damn please and no little bourgeois boy and his little group of friends can stop me. "

He glowered. "Stop being so flippant about this! This isn't a joke. There's going to be a battle. There will be guns and people shooting and – " He stopped as a mental image of Eponine being shot flashed through his mind. He paled; his nightmares had somehow found their way into his waking hours.

"Well, that's generally what happens in battles, in case you didn't know. Big booms and people yelling," she said, with a stinging sarcasm. Enjolras' face was drained of color, she noticed. "What's this? Why so quiet? Did you not know this is what happened? Are you scared? Is little Enjolras scared?" Her anger had carried her away and she didn't care any more what she said. "I think he is. I think you're all just a bunch of cowards and you're the biggest one of them all."

His face so pallid before suddenly blazed with color and Eponine was suddenly afraid she had gone too far. They stood there – him glaring and her resolutely meeting his gaze. Suddenly, something inside him seemed to snap. The fire went out from his eyes and his shoulders slumped in defeat. "You're right," he said, brokenly. "You're right. I am scared. I'm scared that I'll die and I'll never see you again. I'm afraid that you'll die and your blood will be on my hands. I have nightmares every night that you're dead. I can't let the nightmares become a reality. I'm scared of a world where you're not. You're right, Eponine, I'm terrified. I love you too much to lose you."

Her eyes which had stayed on his all through his little speech finally tore themselves away and she looked away down the street, very pale. Enjolras watched her carefully, trying to gauge her reaction. She looked like she might possibly cry. He waited for her to do something but she didn't. He hadn't meant to say all that. He hadn't meant to tell her he loved her. He hadn't even realized that he did until he said it. He hadn't meant for any of this to happen. Eponine just had this way of turning him around and making him do things he never meant to do. Like falling in love.

She spoke, snapping him out of his reverie. The color had somewhat returned to her face and, though she was breathing heavily, she seemed to have composed herself. It was certainly more than could be said of him. "You know, that's the first time you've ever admitted I'm right," she said, softly. He stared at her in shock and a little grin crept onto her face. He started chuckling and then stepped towards her, pulling her into his arms and kissing her deeply. They both knew what she really meant.

They held each other for a long moment. "Funny, isn't it? We're all fighting for love. You're fighting because you love France and you love your ideals. The king's fighting you because he loves his power too much. Gavroche wants to fight because he loves excitement and Courfeyrac. I want to fight because I love you and want to be with you no matter how it ends. We're all fighting for love but you never think fighting has anything to do with love," she mused. He nodded. "Enjolras," she stepped back and looked up at him seriously. "I'm not going to go to the battle. I'll stay with Gavroche. We'll rouse the people and pray for you." He couldn't really believe what he was hearing. "You conceded that I was right and so I'm going to listen to you. I think it's only fair," she said, her voice holding a trace of amusement. She had thought through his plan and while she still didn't like it, she would do it. It was reasonable and she weighed the merits of listening to him and ignoring. If she listened, he would feel better not have to worry about her so much. Plus, someone really did need to look after Gavroche. If she ignored him, he would do nothing but argue with her about it and cause him to excessively worry and she didn't really know how to shoot a gun anyways. And then of course, no one was there to watch after Gavroche.

He grinned down at her. His heart was soaring. He hadn't actually thought she would do it. He had expected to fight with her about it at every step. He kissed her again. "Since I've agreed," she said, pulling away, "I get to stay in your flat, right?" He raised his eyebrows and nodded. She smiled. "I think I'll move in early and get used to the place." He grinned and didn't say anything. She went home with him that night and together they found his new favorite thing.

**A/N: Happy Saturday! Hope you liked. Let me know if there's anything I can improve. :)**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Sorry it took forever to update. I was having issues with my computer and yeah...Anyways, hope you like this. It was a bit of a beast to write and I'm not very sure I like it but I wanted to update for y'alls. And thank you for all the favorites/follows/reviews. It makes me ever so happy. **

He was resting against the barricade, finally allowing his protesting body a moment of respite. He missed her but he would not have her here for anything. He sighed and shifted himself into a more comfortable position. _Has it only been two weeks?_ he thought. It had seemed so long ago and yet it had all happened too fast. _Has it only been two weeks?_ he thought again.

Two weeks since Eponine had unofficially moved into his flat. Two weeks since he had woken up to see Eponine besides him, dark hair fanned over the pillow, her face, usually so animate, stilled in the peacefulness of sleep. It had been one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen. He had kissed her on the cheek and she had woken immediately. It had also been two weeks since he had discovered Eponine was absolutely not a morning person. Grouchy and irritable, she had grumbled and moaned all through the morning. His cheerfulness and amusement at her bad mood had only made things worse. But he was Enjolras and he liked to make her angry. They had fallen into a pattern then. In the day they would go about their usual business, her to the streets and him to the university. In the evening, they would join each other at the Musain as always and go home together. There would be nights when she didn't come to the café but later, when he lay in bed by himself worrying about her, she would pick his lock (she refused to take one of his keys) and slip inside, burrowing under the covers and snuggling up to him for warmth. Some nights were for passion, some were for talking, others were just comfortable silence and even breathing but all nights they were together. This would be the first night in two weeks that they weren't.

They had received the news about LeMarque five days ago. He was ill –fatally so– and they were told he would not last long. This had galvanized Les Amis to even greater and more passionate action, holding rallies outside his house, stitching tricolor pins, laying out battle plans. Most excitingly, they actually had been preparing for battle. Enough of the theoretical, they had moved onto to the practical. They were gathering ammunition, molding bullets, stockpiling firearms. It had been exhilarating. Everything had come to a head two days ago. Their rally in front of LeMarque was successful; the people were receptive. The police had even come to break it up, a sure sign of the rising tension. Later that night, the boys had gathered at the Musain, their exuberance barely kept in check. Marius had "fallen in love" with some random girl he had seen on the streets. Enjolras was a little more than annoyed with the boy. He had been a bit snappish at Marius but everyone's emotions were running high that night.

The next morning though, they had been sober. It was the kind of sober that came with the importance of what they were about to do. It didn't mean they weren't excited but it was a serious excitement. Enjolras had scanned the crowd, caught sight of Eponine in her boy's clothes and nodded at her. The night before had been a sort of hopeful good-bye. They both knew what might lie in store the next day although neither would say it. It was an unspoken maybe. She had lain with her head on his bare chest while his fingers gently tangled themselves in her hair. "Your heart is beating," she had spoken, softly.

"It'd be a little concerning if it wasn't," he had murmured, jokingly. He knew she was smiling. He joked more around her, something the boys noted with admiration. His sense of humor had been almost non-existent before. "You're rubbing off on him in a good way," Bahorel had told her.

"Yes, very concerning," she had agreed and a hint of sadness crept into her voice. He held her closer, then and she had wrapped her arms around his waist.

"You'll stay away?" he had asked, hesitantly. He hated to bring it up. He knew she hated when he did but he couldn't help himself sometimes. He had asked her this same question several times already.

"Yes," she had hissed, in exasperation. "I told you I would."

"I'm just making sure. I don't want to be pushy," he had said.

"But you are being pushy," she had interjected. He had sighed. He didn't want to argue, not tonight. "Enjolras, I promised I wouldn't go, so I'm not going. I'm a man of my word," she had said, so solemnly he laughed. She lay her head back down. They were quiet a moment. "Since you've extracted a promise out of me, I'm going to extract a promise out of you."

"Alright, what?" he had asked, cautiously.

"Promise me that this-" she tapped his chest above his heart "-keeps beating. Ok?"

"You have my honor," he had said.

"Good," she had murmured. "The sound of it helps me go to sleep sometimes." He smiled at that.

"Glad to be of assistance," he had joked.

She had stayed true to her promise thus far and he to his. During the flurry of activity as they built the barricade, she had found him, dragging along a table. "What are you doing here?" he had growled.

"Just reminding you of your promise," she had said, breathlessly. Then she had pulled him down into a kiss and ran off without another word.

The adrenaline rush of the past hours had left him physically and mentally exhausted. He began to doze, leaning up against the barricade missing the warmth of her next to him. He tried not to think too much about missing her and focused on the fact that she was safe, far away from the barricade, in his flat. She would be tired too, after rallying the people. He imagined the way she looked when she spoke of the revolution. Her shining eyes, rapidly gesticulating hands, everything about her showing the fire that burned inside. He loved her so much. His time with her had been the happiest in his life. These thoughts drifted through his brain as he sunk deeper into sleep.

He was woken by a familiar little voice and one that wasn't supposed to be there. His eyes flew open and he saw Gavroche, clutching Courfeyrac's hand desperately. Enjolras rose quickly and headed towards them. "What are you doing here, Gavroche? Where is Eponine?" he asked, his worry making him sound angrier than he was.

"You must come," Gavroche demanded, detaching himself from Courfeyrac and instead hanging grabbing Enjolras' hand. "You've got to. Get Joly. You must come." His fearful insistent babble rung ominously in the young revolutionary's ears.

"He's been going on like this since he got here. Climbed through the barricade and just kept at it, telling me I must come," Courfeyrac explained. "Won't tell me what's wrong, either." By this time, the others had come over to see what the commotion was. Gavroche had finally collapsed on the ground, trying manfully to hold back the sobs.

Enjolras crouched down to the little boy's level. "Gavroche?" he said, softly. The boy looked up, eyes swimming with tears. "Tell me what's wrong," Enjolras commanded, gently.

The boy's lips quivered. "You've just got to come," he said, in a wavering voice.

"Why? Tell me why, Gav." He employed the nickname he'd often heard Eponine use with him.

"She'll be mad if I say," the boy said.

"Who will? Eponine? Where is she, Gavroche? Tell me," Enjolras said, trying to keep the urgency out of his voice. "What's wrong?"

"She won't like me saying," he began again. He paused again, apparently at war with himself. "You aren't supposed to know or you'll worry. She told me not to tell but I have to. There're no doctors over there. Not like Joly."

"Over where? Why do you need a doctor?" Enjolras said, barely containing his impatience. "Tell me. Please!"

"The other barricade. We rallied them. Eponine talked to them and we got them all cheering. They built a barricade, like this one. It was so much fun and it was exciting and everyone was yelling and then there were all these soldiers suddenly." The little boy's voice contorted with emotion. "And they were shooting and Eponine told me to go away and go back to your flat but I didn't listen to her." His voice finally broke and he was convulsed with sobs. "It's all my fault, Enjolras. It's all my fault. I should've listened to her."

"What happened?" Enjolras asked, with trepidation.

"She got shot!" Gavroche finally blurted out. "I was running to move some furniture but then this soldier appeared and he fired his gun at me but suddenly Eponine was there and...and..." he broke off again to cry. Enjolras sat down hard. She was supposed to be safe. She was supposed to be safe in his flat. He had sent her away to keep her safe and she had only gotten into more danger. His first thought was to go to her immediately but then he remembered his men. He couldn't leave them here. He was their leader and there was a revolution. But he needed to be with Eponine. But he needed to fight for freedom. For the first time, his favorite things were at war with each other.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Didn't have time to proofread so sorry if there are a ton of mistakes. :-/**

Enjolras reminded himself that the boys were watching, waiting, to see what he would do. He reminded himself that it would not help anyone if he lost his head. He reminded himself that he must stay calm and collected. He was their leader and he must lead by example. He sucked in huge gulps of air. He glanced down at Gavroche, staring up at him with big brown eyes so very much like hers. He looked away and reminded himself to stay calm. Stay calm. Stay calm. Stay calm. Stay. Calm. Stay. Stay. He knew he had to stay. He couldn't just leave.

He looked up at the boys surrounding him in a half-circle. He caught the worry in Combferre's eyes. "I'm fine. Gavroche," he turned his attention to the little one. "How badly hurt is she?"

"I don't know. There was a lot of blood. You must go to her," Gavroche insisted.

"I can't. I have to stay at the barricade. That doesn't mean I won't help," he said quickly as the boy opened his mouth to protest. He surveyed the boys in front of him, trying to decide who he could spare and who he trusted with this all-important task. "Joly, you must go, of course," Enjolras said, nodding to the man. "Combferre, go with him. I trust you to make the necessary decisions," he added quietly. Combferre nodded, clasping his arm, letting him know it would be alright.

"We should have one more, just in case we need to carry her anywhere," Joly spoke up from where he was gathering whatever medical supplies he could find.

"I'll go," Marius stood up. "She is my best friend, after all."

"No, I'll go," Bahorel insisted. "I'm stronger than you."

"No, no. _I'll_ go. You two stay and fight for the glorious cause. You actually believe in it anyways. If I'm going to help with anything, I might as well help with something important to me," Grantaire's lazy drawl cut in. He met Enjolras stare. "Don't worry. I'm sober….enough."

"Very well," Enjolras said, tersely, "If you are ready then go at once." He paused and hesitated. "Thank you, my friends."

"Don't worry, Enjolras. I'll do my best," Joly reassured him.

"We'll take care of her," Combferre said.

"Because heavens know if we didn't you'd skin us alive," Grantaire added, with a wink.

Enjolras smiled, grimly. "And burn you at the stake," he said, seriously. There was a smattering of chuckles and smiles. The three, led by Gavroche, slipped out from the cover of the barricade and Enjolras settled back to the arduous task of waiting.

Waiting, Enjolras soon decided, was on the very top of his not-favorite things list. He paced. He checked the powder store multiple times. He added various bits of furniture to the barricade. He pretended to sleep. He drank a little. He paced. He was constantly climbing up to Courfeyrac on watch duty. "Mon ami," Courfeyrac said, exasperatedly, "Don't you think I would tell you if I saw them? Relax, Enjolras. There's nothing you can do."

"I know. That's what makes me worry. I can't do anything. I don't like not doing things. This waiting is wearing down my nerves," Enjolras told him.

"Ever the man of action, aren't you?" Courfeyrac chuckled. "Why don't you go give the boys a speech or something to rouse their spirits?"

Enjolras sighed and turned back around, half-considering the idea. He focused instead on finding a manageable path back down the barricade but hand on his arm made him turn around again. "Look," Courfeyrac hissed. Enjolras followed his gaze and saw Joly's head popping out behind a pillar, checking to see if the coast was clear. He disappeared but reappeared moments later. He was followed by Combferre and Grantaire and Gavroche. Enjolras' heart nearly stopped and, were it not for Courfeyrac's tight grip, he might have fallen over or something equally embarrassing. Borne between Grantaire and Combferre was a stretcher and on the stretcher a body and over the body, a white sheet. Enjolras turned towards Courfeyrac, questioningly, and tried to quell the panic rising inside him. Courfeyrac met his gaze with a bleak blank look. A sudden moment from below attracted their attention and they saw Joly frantically gesturing to them to let them in. Galvanized into sudden action, Enjolras began scrambling back down the barricade. "Open it up! Let them in!" Courfeyrac called down. The others, startled by their leader's frantic actions and Courfeyrac's call, immediately set to work, sliding back a portion of the barricade to admit them. By the time Enjolras had reached the bottom, the little band was inside and he ran to meet them. The little crowd that had gathered parted when they saw him coming. He saw the stretcher being lowered to the ground. "What happened? What is this? Combferre?" His eyes found his friend's face, searching for answers.

"Enjolras, we - " Combferre began but was cut off by Enjolras' questions.

"Why is there a sheet? Combferre?"

"Enjol-"

"Mon Dieu! Speak! What happened? Tell me! Joly?"

"Well, when – "

"Is she dead?"

"ENJOLRAS!" Combferre yelled over his frantic babbling, "CALM DOWN!" Enjolras' mouth snapped shut and a stunned silence descended upon them. Suddenly, all eyes turned towards the stretcher as the sheet began to squirm and Eponine's face, pale but living, appeared.

"Enjolras," she huffed, "You know how I don't like to be woken up." She gave him a petulant look. Enjolras sank beside her in relief.

"Sorry," he whispered, weakly. Then looking up at Combferre and Joly, "Sorry."

Combferre shook his head, dismissively. "It's fine. I didn't mean to yell at you," he added. "She was shot in the shoulder and leg. She can't walk so we put her on the stretcher. We told the police, as a cover, that we were clearing the dead bodies so that's why there's the sheet."

Enjolras turned his attention back to Eponine. "Sorry I broke my promise," she muttered. "But technically, you were the one who made me break it. I didn't try to come here."

"Well, I guess we'll let it slide. How do you feel?" he asked, fearing to touch her lest it cause her pain.

"Well, it sorta feels like my leg and my shoulder are on fire. And also, everything's a little fuzzy. But that might be the alcohol," she said, thoughtfully.

"It's a good thing we brought Grantaire along. We needed his alcohol to cleanse the wounds," Joly spoke up. "And to calm her nerves."

"And didn't you all say I should've stopped drinking so much? Where would that have got us now, eh?" Grantaire grinned.

"We've got to move her somewhere safer," Combferre said.

"And cleaner. I don't need her getting infection," Joly added. Within minutes, she was situated in the tavern. Joly checked her bandages, asking multiple questions about her health. Combferre finally had to drag him out before he started trying to clean the whole place so she wouldn't become infected. Enjolras stood alone with Eponine.

"You know," she said, quietly, "I thought your idea was a stupid one. Rousing the people and all, but it actually worked. That's another feather in your cap."

"It was probably just your stubbornness that made them come. You probably didn't leave them alone until they decided to fight," he replied, brushing the hair away from her face fondly.

"I like to think it was my brilliant speech. I did have quite the role model," she grinned.

"Either way, the people came. That's all that matters. I'm just sorry that you were hurt. I thought I could protect you by sending you away but I just put you in harm's way," he apologized.

She laughed, but her laughter turned to pained coughing. He soothed her worriedly, wondering if he should call for Joly. "Oh, silly boy," she said. "It's not all your fault. You can't control it all. Don't apologize for something someone else has done."

"But I could have just told you to stay in the flat and," he began.

"I probably wouldn't have listened. Whatever has happened, happened. You can't change it and you can't control it. You can't always make up for other people's sins. You're already doing enough with this revolution."

"But I want to do more. I don't want people to suffer," he sighed. "Don't want you to suffer for this. The fighting started because of me and now you're hurt. Don't tell me it's not my fault."

"I will tell you it's not your fault. The fighting started because of the injustices in this country. You were just the one who made it clear to everyone. Now why am I the one comforting you? I was the one who got shot anyways," she said, teasingly. He looked over at her and grinned, before leaning in and kissing her gently.

"You look tired," he said.

"Well, you know. I've sorta almost died. It's a bit tiring," she replied, nonchalantly.

"Sleep. I won't let anyone wake you," he said, rising. She reached and took his hand.

"Stay with me," she pleaded. "Just until I'm sleeping." He sat back down, grasping her hand more tightly. She smiled contentedly. "G'night," she mumbled, closing her eyes.

"It's practically morning," he remarked.

"Always have to be right, don't you?" she said, sleepily.

"Yes," he replied. She smiled again and a few moments later she was fast asleep.

He rose, careful not to wake her and went to stand at the door. The boys were spread across the barricade, some sleeping, others talking quietly. He stood there a long time, lost in his thoughts, until the sky had begun to lighten. It would be morning very soon. The very first rays of the sun climbed over the top of the high walls of the buildings around. A sudden shouting and somebody yelling for his name, broke the silence. Enjolras turned quickly to look at the still sleeping Eponine. He still couldn't believe how beautiful she was in the morning when she was still sleeping, the first sunlight, touching her pale face. The peacefulness on her face was wonderful. It was his favorite thing and he'd be damned if he let those stupid boys ruin it.


	12. Chapter 12

"Enjolras, Enjolras!" Combferre ran to meet him.

"Keep it down! Eponine just fell asleep," Enjolras said. "What is it?"

"Volunteers. Dozens of them," Combferre said, grinning.

"Are you serious? From where?" he hurried towards the entrance of the barricade where the rest of the boys were gathered.

"They started arriving several minutes ago, demanding to be let in," Feuilly said. "There's about twenty now."

"Combferre, Courfeyrac, come with me," Enjolras commanded, beginning to climb the barricade. He stood atop it, gun leveled, looking down at the small huddle of men.

"You the leader?" one of the men spoke up.

"Yeah, that's him," another said, pushing forward. Enjolras recognized him from somewhere. He just couldn't think where. "It's me Lejeune. You helped me when Thenardier's gang beat up on me."

Enjolras nodded with recognition. "What is your business here?"

"Let us in. We've come to help," Lejeune said. "You helped me. So I'm helping you."

Enjolras smiled and gestured to the boy below. "Open it up," he called down. "Let them in." It was quickly done and the volunteers gathered at the base of the barricade. Enjolras, flanked by Combferre and Courfeyrac, stood looking down at the men gathered. "Thank you for your support. Our cause is true and noble and there is nothing greater that we can do than fight for our motherland. The future of France is in our hands! Vive le France!" There was a cheering chorus of "Vive le France!" cut short by the sound of gunfire. Enjolras' head whipped around and saw one of the National Guard, lowering his gun. It was to get their attention, he knew, but the sound of it made him remember just how much danger they were in. Eponine and Gavroche were still here, as well.

"You at the barricade!" the captain yelled. "Give up! No one is coming to help you and you cannot win this. Give up!" Enjolras looked behind him, glancing at Combferre and Courfeyrac, then down to the newly arrived men.

"We will not surrender. Not so long as there are those willing to fight for freedom," Enjolras shouted back. "Vive le France!" The men below took the up the cry and swarmed up the barricade, preparing to defend themselves against the inevitable onslaught. Enjolras took in the sight around him. Their numbers had swelled, ever so slightly and while the new arrivals gave him and his men hope, he knew it hardly made a difference when faced with the National Guard. He clambered back down the barricade looking for Joly. He soon found the medical student, loading guns. "Joly," Enjolras called as he approached. "Will she be able to move?"

Joly looked back at the tavern where Eponine was. Probably not sleeping anymore but hopefully resting. "Even if we could move her, there's no way of getting her out of this barricade now. Not with the Guard right on our doorstep."

Enjolras nodded, his worst fears confirmed. He rushed back to the tavern and found Eponine, still on the straw pallet he'd left her, but awake. "Enjolras," she cried when he burst in. "What's going on out there? I heard shouting and I don't know where Gavroche is."

"I'll find him. It will begin soon. We received a few more volunteers. Some of the people are rising," Enjolras said, trying to remain cheerful. "Your friend Lejeune came with about twenty men."

"Oh, good," she breathed in relief, "He came. I was afraid he wouldn't. Twenty men, you say? That's good."

"You knew he was coming?" Enjolras asked, confused.

"I ran into him in the streets yesterday and I told him to find help. I know he's told so many people about how you saved his neck and many of them were impressed," she explained. Enjolras smiled a little. Well, he was glad he had inspired at least a few people.

"I hope more will come though," she mused. "I spread the word. Some of Gavroche's friends helped."

"You have done more work in just one day than I have in all my months of planning," he said.

"Well, I couldn't have done it without you. I told them all the story of a bourgeois boy who believed in something bigger than himself. Who liked to argue and prove himself right and was willing to give his life for people who didn't even care. I told them about a boy who helped me believe that there is still goodness. And I told them that if they believed in goodness and a better life still, all they had to do was fight for it. I told them there's more to this life than the dark and the miserable. And even if we don't see it now, we will someday," she said, smiling at him. Enjolras felt a lump rise in his throat and he tried hard not to cry.

"I don't know really what to say," he said after a moment in which he tried to compose himself.

"Have I rendered the great orator speechless?" she asked in mock surprise. "I underestimated my talent."

"You learned it all from me," he teased. The clamor from outside increased in volume and he knew he must go. "Stay safe," he whispered, kissing her deeply. "I'll send Gavroche to you as soon as I find him." He stood, as though to leave but hesitated, then quickly pulled a pistol from his belt. "Just in case." She nodded and took it.

"Go, I'll be fine," she said, softly. He nodded and rushed out. His first business was finding Gavroche so he scanned the crowd for Courfeyrac's curly black head, knowing the little boy would not be far away. He spotted the pair quickly and ran to them.

"Gavroche," Enjolras called. The boy turned at his name and waved to Enjolras. "Gavroche, I've got an important job for you." The boy's eyes lit up excitedly. "I need you to watch over Eponine." His face fell ever so slightly. "She's left all alone in that tavern and injured so if someone were to come in there she needs someone strong enough to protect her. I know you can do this and I trust you'll know how to deal with anything that happens." Enjolras said this all very solemnly, as though he were talking to any one of the boys. The seriousness of his tone and face made an impression on the boy and he nodded.

"You can depend on me. I'll take care of her for us," he said, before scampering back.

"Thanks for that," Courfeyrac said. "I didn't want him out here but didn't know how to get him out without offending him."

"Well, let's just hope this time they stay safe," Enjolras said, though he knew there would not be much chance. There had been no word from anyone. What few other barricades had been erected had fallen, to the best of his knowledge. He wouldn't let this deter him. He had said time and time again that he was willing to die for his country. He would stay true to this until the end.

A gun shot rang out, followed by a sudden hush. Enjolras could hear his heartbeat racing inside him as he gripped his gun tighter. He could hear the commander of the Guard shouting orders and he turned to shout a few to his own ragtag band. The fighting began in earnest. He and his men might not be orderly, well-trained or well-equipped but they had heart. They had passion for a belief they would die for. Enjolras smiled grimly to himself. Since when had his thoughts been so despairing? He was supposed to give hope, raise their morale and fill them with a confidence he lacked. His fire still burned but it gave off no warmth and only threatened to burn them all down. Eponine's words suddenly broke through his haze of dark thoughts. _There's more to this life than the dark and the miserable. And even if we don't see it now, we will someday. _Her words brought him comfort and peace amidst the turmoil and he fought with a renewed vigor, calling encouragingly to the boys who took heart in his words.

The Guard pressed forward, gaining only a little. The young revolutionaries held their ground with determination, giving everything they had. "Cannons!" Enjolras heard through the din. His face blanched at the dreaded word. Their barricade would be no match for cannons.

"We must stop the cannons," he yelled to Combferre. His friend nodded and yelled the same to the men surrounding him. All their guns pointed towards the guns, firing rapidly, in attempt to stave off the inevitable. Then Enjolras heard it. Loud shouts, tramping feet. Reinforcements. They did not stand a chance. He sent a look back towards the tavern where Eponine was, probably fretting anxiously over not being able to know what was happening. _I'm sorry but I think I might be breaking my promise to you very soon, _he thought. The shouts were coming closer, probably only a street away. He found Combferre and pulled him aside. "Do you hear that?" he asked. Combferre paused, straining his ears over the sounds of gunfire and screaming. Combferre nodded, his face darkening with worry.

"Do you hear that?" Prouvaire ran towards them. "Do hear them?"

"It's reinforcements," Enjolras said, trying to keep the desolation out of his voice.

"No, no!" Prouvaire said, grinning. "It's singing."

Enjolras stared at him in shock as he began to distinguish the strains of a song amidst the shouts – shouts he now realized were cheers. He climbed up further on the barricade, just in time to see a wave of people storming down the street. They were not wearing the trim uniforms of the king's army but the ragged clothing of the king's people. They bore down the street, cheering, singing, brandishing whatever weapons they had. Guns, sticks, torches, whatever they could lay their hands on, it seemed. Chaos broke out amidst the Guard's confused troops as they turned to face this fresh band of attackers. "Come on!" Enjolras shouted. "We've got to help them!" They revolutionaries swarmed over the barricade leaping down and rushing forward. The Guard, their cannons commandeered and caught between the two small forces could do nothing.

"Fall back!" he heard the commander yell. "We surrender!" Enjolras had never been gladder to hear anything. It was over quickly. The Guard made a hasty retreat, cheers of "Vive le France!" echoing after them. Enjolras stood upon the barricade, surveying the cheering crowd. They were ragged and bruised, battered and poor. But they had won the battle. There would be still much work to be done but his dream had begun to take form in reality and no words could express his happiness. "It's him!" Someone in the crowd below shouted. "He's the one." They all turned their heads towards him and he faced them with some confusion. "He's the one making speeches. He's the one that started this all!"

"He's the one Eponine told us about," a new voice arose. The crowd muttered and assented. Enjolras looked out across the crowd, heart swelling with pride for the girl who had rallied them all.

"Thank you for your help. France is eternally indebted to you because of your courageous actions," he said. "Your bravery will be remembered forever. Today we have shown that the people of France will not stand to be downtrodden any longer. We will rise from depths which the rich have plunged us! This cause we fight for is a glorious one and a worthy one and one which we all believe in." They cheered again but were swiftly cut off by a loud voice.

"It's not a cause we're fighting for!" a man shouted. Enjolras swept the crowd looking for the speaker and found Lejeune. "We're not fighting for an idea or a cause. We fight for a person. I'm sure I'm not the only one here today who was told about this man. When Eponine came to me and asked for my help, I knew who it was she wanted help for. This man saved my life, risked his own simply because he cared. He didn't ask for anything in return. He was willing to give it all. I know Eponine told you all about him and how he still believed and made her believe. We've all had it rough. But we can get a better life and he's going to lead us there." The cheers erupted again and Enjolras flushed. For the second time that day he found himself speechless. When they finally quieted down, they all turned towards him expectantly.

"I thank you for your trust. I will do my best to not disappoint you. I don't want you to believe I'm some sort of savior. I'm not. I just want a better life. Not only for me but for the whole of France. And I will take my stand against anyone who would stop me. If you will take your stand with me, we can bring this country to a new life together. It will not be by my work alone but by us all uniting. I don't know what Eponine has said about me but it seems she's made me into some sort of hero. I'm no hero."

"I didn't have to make you into a hero," Eponine's clear voice rang out. She stood a little behind him, pale and weak and leaning heavily on Grantaire. "I didn't make up anything. Just told them how you were. I just told them what you did. I didn't have to use any fancy words to make you into a hero. Your actions did it for you," she said, proudly. The crowd cheered its approval. An overwhelming amount of emotions flooded through him. Happiness, relief, gratitude, each fought for dominance and he again found himself struggling to hold back tears. Eponine smiled down at him, her tears already flowing freely. He climbed up to her and held her close. "Remember the very first time we argued, I told you that unless you acted, your words meant nothing. Well, I'm not going to say I told you so but….I _was_ right." Enjolras laughed then. Laughed even as the tears spilled down his face. She wrapped her arms around him, laughing too. Enjolras looked over the crowd. People laughing, people crying, people cheering, people happy. He looked back to the girl in his arms. He had never been happier than in this moment. Of all the moments ever in his life, this was by far his favorite.

**A/N : So there's just going to be the epilogue after this. Thanks all for reading.**


	13. Chapter 13

If anyone had told him seven years ago, that Patria would not be his one and only love forever, he would have laughed at them scornfully. If that same person had also said, he would in fact fall in love with a flesh and blood woman and what's more that woman would be Eponine, he would have told them they were insane. If seven years ago, someone had told him he would be a father he would have personally escorted them to a mental institution. But that was seven years ago.  
It had been seven years since that first rebellion. News of the student-led revolution spread like wildfire, setting hearts aflame with love for freedom. The monarchy was doomed. The king's execution and the forming of the republic had been a little over four years ago. That had also been about the time he asked Eponine to marry him. She had cried and laughed and asked him if this was his way of keeping her around since there were no more revolutions to discuss and keep her interested. He'd shrugged and said maybe.

They were married four months later in a little chapel. All the boys were there, snickering or bursting into cheers through the whole ceremony causing the priest to glare at them in annoyance every few minutes. After the wedding, outside the church, was the first time Enjolras hadn't actually minded their teasing all that much. He was far too happy to care.

Less than a year later, a baby boy with curly blonde hair and deep brown eyes was born and Enjolras had never been so damn happy. None of the Amis were allowed to hold him (at least not while Enjolras was in the room) for the first few weeks. Enjolras didn't trust any of them with his son. "Enjolras," Eponine had finally intervened, "You're being a tyrant in not letting them hold him. You're oppressing their rights as uncles." Enjolras grumbled but gave in.

It had been two years now and Enjolras was walking quickly home in the gathering dusk, smiling as he thought of what was waiting for him. Aurelian (or Ari as they liked to call him) would come running as fast as his little legs could carry him when he heard the key jiggling in the lock. Ari didn't talk much. The only things he could coherently say were Papa, Maman, and Uncle. There were too many Amis for the little one to remember so he called them all by a generic "uncle." Eponine had once attempted to get him to memorize at least Gavroche's name but gave up. Eponine kept herself busy watching her son and keeping house. But she also had gained a new hobby. Every day for a few hours the little street urchins of the neighborhood would gather in the small flat and she would teach them to read. She loved the little ones and knew how to relate to them. She loved that she could help them.

"Papa!" Ari said, loudly as soon as Enjolras walked in. The little one attached himself to his papa's leg. "Papa!" he said, again. Enjolras grinned down at his little boy and scooped him up, planting a kiss in his curly hair.

"Where's mama?" Enjolras asked.

"Mama?"

"Yes, mama," Enjolras repeated. "Where is she?" Eponine was usually not too far behind Ari when Enjolras came home. Ari pointed toward the bedroom and Enjolras set him down and made his way to the door. He paused when he reached the doorway. Eponine was inside, sitting on the floor surrounded by various papers. She rubbed her stomach, swollen with their second child, absentmindedly as she perused a paper in her hand.

"What're you reading?" Enjolras asked, and she looked up, startled. Then she grinned.

"Just some of your old papers," she said, "From back in our revolutionary days." Enjolras smiled, as he remembered those days fondly. "Tell me, at what point did you convince yourself that you actually liked being around me, not just arguing with me."

"What?" Enjolras frowned, "What are you talking about?"

"These papers. Sometimes they're not all revolution talk. Your revolutionary thoughts and personal thoughts get mixed up in here sometimes," she said, smirking.

"What….what did I write?" Enjolras asked, nervously. He couldn't really remember what he wrote exactly but he had a fairly good idea.

"Here let me read you a bit. You were just writing down a point I'd made during one of our many arguments. 'She makes a good point although I helped her finesse it. She really does make good points and I've started to think she's the best conversationalist I've met. Arguing with her has rather become a favorite pastime.' And then later you were recording some information Joly had given you wrote 'Joly finished for me because I walked Eponine home. Note to self: don't get distracted by Eponine. Especially when there's so much to do.' Here's another bit, 'Eponine, stop reading over my shoulder. You're distracting me. Go away. Well, stay if you must. I guess I don't mind. Just be quiet.' I remember that time. You wouldn't talk to me that night you were so absorbed."

"I remember that, too," Enjolras said, stepping closer. "Did I say anything else?"

"Plenty. Here you wrote, 'Got in a fight, saving a man from being robbed. Eponine said she was proud. For some reason that makes me happy.' And then on this you wrote, 'Can't finish this. Wish Eponine was here to help. She always has good ideas.'" Eponine grinned up at him at this point. "Yes, I do. thanks very much." Enjolras smiled, but couldn't help the blush rising. He wished he didn't always feel the need to write down what was going through his mind.

"This one's my personal favorite, 'I have spent so much time with Eponine. At first I was afraid that was detracting from the cause but then I realized she helps me so much that being with her is beneficial. Or am I just trying to rationalize why I always want to be around her? I keep reminding myself that Patria is my mistress but then why do I feel like being around Eponine is my favorite thing.'" Eponine looked up. "Is being around me still your favorite thing?" she asked, coyly.

Enjolras went to sit next to her. "Oh, no. See back then I was this confused young boy. I didn't know what I was doing. I used to think that arguing with you was my favorite thing. Then I thought that maybe making you angry wasn't my favorite thing just being around you was. And I thought that the way you kissed me was my favorite thing or the way you helped me write a speech or the way you looked when we made love," he said, in a low voice. He found her gaze and held it. "But now that I've grown and matured, I know that those things, all those little tiny things weren't my favorite things. They were just what I told myself were my favorite things." She arched an eyebrow at him quizzically. "Do you know what my real favorite thing is?" He leaned his forehead against hers. "My favorite thing is you," he said it softly, and closed the distance between them with a kiss. She pulled back.

"I've always know that you were _my_ favorite thing was you. Guess it shows I still know more than you," she grinned. Enjolras smiled and kissed her again. Yes, this girl, this woman, with her laughing eyes and short temper, with her need to be better in everything, her gentleness when she held their baby, with her passion and quick wit, this beautiful person was and always would be his favorite thing.

**A/N: Hi everyone! Sorry, I didn't mean to drop off the face of the planet like that. I had meant to post this a few weeks ago but then life got in the way. Ugh. Thank you everyone for your support and love. This was my first fanfic ever so it really means a lot that so many people liked it. SamBarksFan: I would love to do a sequel but don't think I can come up with a good enough story line or anything. This thing started out as a one shot after all. I've been toying with the idea of a modern AU if anyone's interested in that but I think this will be it for "Favorite Thing."  
But again, thank you all so so so so so so much for the reviews and follows and everything. You guys are the best and it's been so fun writing for you all! *hugglesallaround***


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